Stepping out into the open, Reyes came in with his palms open. He’d seen this man before. Boba Fett, a bounty hunter with no real allegiance--not to the Collective or the Outcasts--and with probably half of Kadara in his cross-hairs. Maybe even himself. Tucked away and hidden in the shadows were the three crates his client told him to pick up. But Boba was there, too. Looking to intercept his cargo? But they were also alone. Armed. It could be a setup. A shootout. Or maybe something else.
The stars above lit the darkness. Reyes smiled, cool and easy, considering the options.
❝ Please. Our last tango was disastrous, at best, ❞
WAVES A HAND, AIRILY, THE MOVEMENT THOUGHTLESS BUT WITH A KIND OF BONE DEEP GRACE. Reyes Vidal could only imagine what clinical realms Siobhan’s thoughts are in because she is ever the pragmatist. The frenzy surrounding her has been taken to new, almost VOYEURISTIC & murderous heights. & she has him to thank for it.
She casts several, subtle glances at the crowd over his shoulder. Her spine is arched back like a sleek PANTHER at the slightest pressure there & she sighs in his gentlemanly cologne. Their actions on the surface level can be seen as a cliche seduction, but it has vast political significance. All business.
❝ I was under the assumption that the Collective took care of the dissent, ❞ she spins on her heels, forcing him to give her a twirl. The strobes cast an angry red light over the soft, pretty shapes of her face as she slips an arm over his shoulder, & grip. Then violet.
Despite how aptly & FANCY her footwork be, Siobhan’s expression & mood sags like a sack full of coal.
❝ I expected efficiency when I made my investment, Mr. Vidal. I will not have any foul rumors attached to my name. Debe arreglar esto. Hm? ❞
A thumb swipes a loose hair from his forehead.
He smirks. "But not the last one.”
Because she’s still here. She still let Sloane die, still chose him, still accepted this dance. He twirls her and she spins fast, her long hair swinging in the momentum, and as the deep reds and purples pour through her lashes and down the narrow expanse of her shoulders, he reels her back in. Fast, fluid, no missed steps. The music is slow like a burning funeral pyre, and he can tell she’s watching the people. They’re watching, too.
Methodical, Siobhan. Nothing escapes her. Her tongue slips to Spanish, all deliberate like the rest of her. He can’t help but to like that.
“I’m always efficient. You’ll see.” One corner of his lips tugs. She sweeps a strand of hair from his forehead, the tips of her long nails grazing his skin, and his eyes, dimmed in the darkness, catch light. “Between you and me, Ryder, what the people are saying--that you can’t be trusted here in Kadara. That’s not true.” She has a violinist’s hands. He holds her, they sway, and in this careful distance, he smells it--the wild violets, coconut, spice--even through the club’s fog of alcohol. Shadowy figures pass, observe. He's aware. "I had a good feeling about you.”
The thing is: People notice successful. People crave it. And they’re jealous of those who are.
❛ no, i don’t KNOW where ryder is. ❜ yumi glances up for a brief moment before SAVOURING a sip of the rather violently green-coloured cocktail she is drinking. ❛ i’m ASSUMING that’s why you came over. ❜
“Not the only reason.” Some people close to them were watching... Eyeing. Reyes slips in a space beside her and Umi, behind the bar, grouses just as he steps up, knowing full-well he never pays for his drinks. She slams down an Elasa for him, anyway. She groans.
“You again.”
“The one and only,” he says, unfazed much to her annoyance. He looks to Yumi. "My--friend has it covered.”
Zia was a mess. She was too ready to bite, had too-steady a trigger finger and a temper that burned too hot, too soon. Even now as he took her down the fields of Kadara, he imagined her gasping to life, pulling out her pistol, and cursing him straight to Hell--she’d rather rot in the blistering sun than be touched by him again. But it wasn’t her call. Reyes stopped near the edge of a lake and set her down. Damn, this was not part of the plan.
Something rustling caught his attention. His hand twitched for his rifle, but the sound was familiar. He saw Ryder coming close.
“Never a dull moment, is there?” He sighed, but he wasn’t looking for an answer. “Hate to say it, but I thought you’d be on your way by now.”
The crowd was buzzing and a slew of people were swaying back and forth, thumping to the music with their mugs raised high and froth spilling haphazardly on the floor. The Vortex was packed, filled to the ceiling, and Reyes was with another glass of--what was it again? The Dirty Squirrel? Whatever. With enough drinks, maybe he’d forget the name.
“Pathfinder! It’s all you can drink, thanks to you!” a man roared. Reyes turned his head and, in the distance, was Sophia in a sea of raving people trying to shove her forward. He had to wink. For old time’s sake.
"Ryder--You and that perfect timing of yours,” he said, flashing his usual half-smile. “Thought I might find you here.”
Still relishing the taste of Whiskey on the tip of his tongue, he cradles the bottle close to him once returned, humming quietly. ‘ You are— and I get the feeling that you are also fishing for compliments. We both know I’m not here to get a breath of fresh air. Maybe I’m here for the view ? ’ He grins then, running his fingers along the bottle before he indulges himself with another swig. ‘ Not talking about that kind of view. Just— Mountains. Heights. This, here, is definitely scoring. ’ The taste & smell of sulfur beyond Kadara Port was not the most desirable air, but Scott hopes that the activation of the Vault will do quick improvements. He does feel compelled to hike & climb some of the Mountains of Kadara one day. ‘ Might be the company after all. Can’t beat a thousand year’s old Krogan, literally, but I am nothing but willing to compromise on that. ’ The drawl lacing his voice suggests teasing and jest, but the smile was genuine. A little apologetic as he offers the bottle, a little fond overall.
‘ I’m not here to propagate for the Initiative. I wasn’t involved but I’d say there likely have been faults on both sides. What I do know however— I know what it’s like to be judged by something which has been out of your control. To give up your dreams. So, everyone deserves their second chance as far as I am concerned. Call me naive and an idealist but I’d like to believe there’s still a chance that the people of Kadara and Nexus can talk with each other again. Equally. ’
“Nothing wrong with that view.” He’s teasing. But joke’s side, Scott has a point. It is beautiful, and high off the ground and nevereverdrunk, Reyes actually likes the smeared pinks and oranges that had begun seeping into Kadara’s skies. It’s surreal.
Might be the company after all. He takes the whiskey, and the shadows crawl over his heavy-lidded eyes. “Careful--People will start talking.”
And that would be bad news, wouldn’t it?
“You and your ideals, pathfinder,” Reyes continues, somewhat amused. “Since the uprising, the people want nothing to do with the Initiative. It’ll take a lot more than chance to clean all this shit. But you, I'll be more than happy to bet on.” At least Ryder’s genuine about wanting the best for Kadara, actually doing something to help even if he's still in the dark. And even if he’s too clean, too good and too moral for everyone here, he has his heart in the right place. That counts for something.
“What you said just now... this--dream of yours. What was it?”
NAME OF YOUR MUSE: Reyes Vidal
ONE PICTURE YOU LIKE BEST OF YOUR MUSE: (obligatory lazy graphic)
TWO HEADCANONS YOU HAVE FOR YOUR MUSE YOU NEVER TOLD ANYONE:
Callsign “Anubis”: On the human colony of Cuervo, a large factory explosion set a large portion of the settlement in a raging fire. Though most managed to evacuate and the flames were eventually put out after two days, there was still a staggering death toll. Many families back on Earth and on other planets demanded their loved ones be returned to them for burial, and because Cuervo was too small a colony to be supplied with adequate spacecraft to meet the wishes of the deceased’s loved ones, other pilots were called in. Reyes had the un-glamorous job of delivering some of the bodies of the departed back to their families in his shuttle, the N-503. His fellow pilots stamped him with the name “Anubis,” then, for the fact that he “led them to the afterlife.” It was in poor taste, all in dark humor, but there was a certain sense to it. Reyes disliked the nickname, but as it goes, the more you hate it, the more it sticks. So the name stuck and became official.
Piloting abilities: Though a shuttle pilot, Reyes was an exceptionally skilled one. He delivered anything and everything from point A to B throughout the entire Milky Way, and though there were security checkpoints stationed throughout the system, space is too large a frontier to cover. Pilots went in with the mindset that they could be subject to pirates looking for easy scores. Reyes was no exception. Throughout his time, he learned how to outmaneuver most anyone, making those tight turns and fancy spins, and--whenever it was available--using his surroundings to his advantage. He also knew routes to best avoid. Reyes had the talent of out-thinking most pirates, and his unpredictable flying style often threw them off guard. Add on the fact that he was no stranger to carrying fragile cargo (in secret, he smuggled alcohol on the side), how he was consistently able to deliver them intact proved he had skills. Still does.
THREE THINGS YOUR MUSE LIKES DOING IN THEIR FREE TIME:
Drinking: Goes without saying. Reyes loves kicking back with something strong at hand. Couple it with the thrumming, droning music of the Tartarus, and he’s very much at home. However, he is not an alcoholic.
Gambling: Reyes is a natural when it comes to gambling be it poker, mini-bac or whatever. He can read people’s faces and their body language, so calling someone’s bluff is a talent of his, and he’s sharp when it comes to keeping count. He’s also, as one can guess, gifted at playing other people and baiting them into doing what he wants them to do. Some people swear he’s a cheat and he’s gotten into a number of bar fights because of the unfounded accusation. He could probably give Gil a run for his money or even SAM. That said... he also knows how to cheat and get away with it.
Sightseeing: Reyes is a romantic at heart. Whenever he isn’t up to something and has some genuine free time, he likes to unwind taking in the sights. Sunsets, sunrises, the cloudless nights and shimmering stars. Before coming to Andromeda, when he was first starting as a pilot, he could probably have been found sitting on top of some cargo crate looking up to the canopy of stars above. You can’t beat the view when you’re in a small colony or soaring the abyss in the cockpit. At home or in a big city, the light pollution obscures it all, but out in space? You see it how it’s supposed to be.
SEVEN PEOPLE THAT YOUR MUSE LIKES/LOVES:
Ryder
Keema
That sums it up. They’re the two people he’s opened up at least somewhat to, and considering his whole life is built on secrets on top of secrets, that’s a significant deal. Still, he is not exceptionally close to much anyone, and he will always have enough skeletons in the closet to fill a graveyard.
TWO THINGS YOUR MUSE REGRETS:
If romanced, then playing Ryder.
Reyes isn’t one for many regrets. Even if he feels troubled or sorry about his actions in any way, ultimately, he decides it had to be done. In that regard, his regret may come off as empty. The feelings are real, however.
A PHOBIA YOUR MUSE HAS:
Wouldn’t call it a phobia, and everyone has it, but a fear of rejection.
Again, I wouldn’t call it a phobia, but he does not want to be unimportant.
Sorry for the cop-out on the people he likes and the regrets thing. I’ll come back to it later, maybe, when I can think big time. Still working through my grief over my dog.
“Speaking from personal experience, Mr. Vidal?” Humor wraps around her tone like a vine threatening to hold and choke whatever’s in its grasp. Quinn smiles, accepts the drink but does not drink it. Kadaran swill earns little love from a woman of particulars like Quinn Durant, and Kadaran smugglers earn little TRUST.
Reyes spins a story like a spider forming a web. Intriguing thing with spiders; they weave a shelter and make it a TRAP to any that come across it. And here Reyes is, nestled in the cocoon of Kadara. It’d be kitschy, if the potential of danger didn’t bleed into every dark corner of this goddamn planet.
“I’m surprised you’re so willing to take charge on what would otherwise be an exchange of information.” Her head tilts. Nails trace the rim of her glass, a soft, shimmering hum drowned out by music. Something must have his interest–whether it’s in cargo, or in the captain. She decides to play along for it. “See something you like?”
A little retort. He chuckles quietly and picks up his glass. “I’d rather let you think on that one.”
It doesn’t escape his notice. She takes her drink but she never brings it to her lips, never even considers it. Probably doesn’t trust the people of Kadara. Smart. He knocks back some of his whiskey then sets it back down, watching her watch him with those cutting, cold eyes. She has the look of someone watching you from the shadows. But so can he.
“See something you like?” she plays along.
“That would be telling,” he quips, a roguish smile on his face. Reyes leans against the bar counter and considers her for a moment. “Our man--Caius Alves--what he lacks in charm, he happily makes up for. And he never misses. It’s better if I go. I doubt letting him shoot you wins us any favors.”
MEN AREN’T GENERALLY BOLD WITH HER—in fact, she is usually the one to initiate some open insinuation ; confidence-building & grooming. Then charged questions & gestures sift past the floodgates. Stares right into him & his veneer of SMARMY smiles & sees him for the malevolent trickster he is. A little greedy wolf in sheep’s clothing. Reyes Vidal has a history of taking things without asking. Things that don’t belong to him.
❝ We shall see, Mr. Vidal, ❞ her voice drips icicles, deadpan.
She pushes & she pulls ; she’s hot & then she’s cold. Because to tango with the DEVIL & last the twelve rounds, one must have aces.
Although an uncalculated & OVERLOOKED factor, she is convinced he has more up his sleeve.
An open gesture to dance & play PRETENSES, she sets her drink down & joins him on the floor, elegantly. She takes his hand & grips. Her fingers are nimble & bony. Tightly, she squeezes the saturated life & color from his hands underneath those gloves in response to his slick-mouthed statement. A subtle punishment.
Swings her hips.
❝ Another plot, hm? ❞
She takes his hand and squeezes too hard, too firm. So that’s how it is.
“You know I could never resist a good show.”
He looks at her, takes her in for a fraction of a second. Is she trying to think of what he’s doing right now? What he’s thinking of? If what he knows about her so far is right, then she is. The music thrums through the club, slower than normal, and the lights flash on and off, bright and dark, his face clear one second and obscured the next. He draws her in close, but there’s a world of distance between them. He scans the shifting crowd.
“That business we took care of with Sloane--the people are talking.” His hand trails down to the small of her back. Everything he does is deliberate, and in between the chatter, music and flowing alcohol, no one could hear them. Not even if they tried. “Word is you had the most to gain. And the locals are betting you pulled the trigger. Not that I had any say in it, but Sloane’s people? They grow restless by the minute.”
It’s satisfyingly. Various lights of all shades illuminating Kadara Port at their feet, the view from above both humbling & well-pleasing altogether. Nothing like the sight on top of the mountains he used to climb with Sara, but sufficient to turn their backs on a party which holds no interest. He accepts the bottle passed over to him with an appreciative hum, allowing himself another swig. The benefits of being a biotic started to become far more beneficial. ‘ Wielding subtlety like a drunken Krogan. My mum was rather convinced that the Ryder family must have some Krogan blood. Stubbornness included. ’ An illusion of warmth unfolds as he takes another sip from the bottle before he adjusts his current position to sit at the side of Reyes, holding the bottle towards him.
‘ I still think that pilfering through Sloane’s inventory is beneath you, and in the same moment you manage to come up with this. ’ He leans forward with no sign of worry that he might lose balance, an excited gleam to his eyes. For once he feels like Scott Ryder again. The adventurer who just wants to go out there and explore with no rules & responsibilities beyond his own welfare holding him back. ‘ What made you wonder ? ’
“She’s right about one thing.”
Scott is stubborn. But that stubbornness has kept him alive in Kadara so far, and despite having enough alcohol in him to catch fire near an open flame, he hasn’t lost his balance--probably a symptom of the whole Krogan theory. Taking the whiskey, Reyes knocks back a drink. Scott looks at him with his wide blue eyes, excitement crackling in them, and he has no idea.
“I’m full of surprises,” Reyes says, returning a grin. He hands the bottle back, the alcohol still warm in his throat, and lets out an airy chuckle. “Come on, Ryder. You and the people don’t exactly see eye to eye. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re here for more than drinks.”
Scott, the poster boy of the Initiative, partying with exiles? Kicking back whiskey with a smuggler? Unthinkable.
It’s not an attempt at sounding childish if that’s actually what happened. Drack chuckles into the dregs of his drink – Ryder thinks that might be agreement on his part – and leaves them to it, saying he has business elsewhere. Quietly, Ryder hopes it’s not another get rich scheme that managed to go through his spam filter.
New galaxy, same crap. It’s reassuring in a roundabout way.
“ What’s that I hear? From where I’m standing, you sound a little bit mad you missed out. ”
"That’s putting it lightly.” The man crumpled beside him groans in pain, barely conscious and dribbling, then smacks his head across the floor, out cold. If Reyes didn’t know better, he’d say it was Drack who littered the bar with a quarter of Kadara’s population, but big things come in small packages... and Ryder has a talent for proving people wrong.
Reyes makes a face of pure, fake exasperation.
“That’s the last thing I want,” he exclaims, feigning innocence. “There’s no shame in being the delicate one.”
It was late. Whiskey swirled hot in the pit of his stomach, Kadara’s breeze swept over his skin, and on his tongue, the taste of sun-baked sand. It was like a new world, really. As Sloane’s party droned on and the nighttime drunks started casting shadows in the neon lights, he was way up here, two stories high with a bottle of Mount Milgrom and Scott Ryder.
He was feeling introspective. He blamed it on the alcohol.
"Always the man of honor,” Reyes half-joked, still sober by some maddening twist of fate. He passed the bottle over. “I have to admit, a--part of me thought you’d change your mind. Coming here.”
The bar erupted. A turian sprinted right for him and he jumped out of the way, quick, just barely made it, and they smacked hard against a chair, toppling over. From his blind-side, a salarian. They lunged from behind and wrung their arms tight around his neck like a noose, screaming until his ears buzzed, and in a split-second decision Reyes jammed them hard against a wall until they croaked and fell off. More were coming. He got punched, threw punches–
Then, in his peripheral vision: Cora.
“It's good to see a familiar face,” he breathed, heavy and urgent. There was blood on his gums. They started regrouping. “I could use those fancy biotics right about now.”
