Amelia Gecko

[semi hiatus for finals+] ┎thirty, a beauty, a drunk, and a part-time cashier ┙ [independent OC willing to rp with most. read OOC before interacting.] [Hover here for links.]

[mostlysobersecurity]

 The steam was still rising out of the tub. Marcus laid unconscious, a glass formally filled with whiskey and sleep aides set on the ground next to a kitchen knife. He didn’t snore and his breath was soft enough not to disturb a butterfly's flight path. His hair was tussled; he was clean shaven for the first time in weeks. Amelia could feel the lack of tension as she massaged on either side of his neck.

She worked his skin, fully expecting him to take up and break her plan. Part of her wondered if she kept kneading his neck in hopes he’d wake up and stop her. There would be no protest, no screaming or begging. A marriage that had never been absent of noise was suddenly suffocated with silence. Amelia picked up the knife and felt the weight in her hand before gliding it along a sharpening steel. Her eyes moved from her work to Marcus and back again.

It was half an hour later, she was standing in her bathroom with a gun in one hand. Her hands were coated in blood like a cherry in chocolate, making a mess of things with blood drops and smears lining a path from the bathroom to her feet. The plan was to shoot herself through the head, she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in prison when she just sliced her way out of hell. 

But she waited too long. And Instead of firing the gun she held in one hand, she dialed the cellphone she had in her other. “Lucius?” She spoke softly,  a habit from when she was trying to hide something from Marcus. “I need you to come over. I need your help.”

[xanisher]

Mass Effect (closed rp)

[mostlysobersecurity]

xanisher:

“Oh I know Vakarian well. At least enough to give hell for the stuff he pulled on Omega. So how about we walk and talk. Plus I think I’m supposed to report in with the doctor on board for my shots.” She said as she started walking towards a possible location for Garrus to hang out.

“So who else of interest is on board? I’d like to introduce myself to them before we take off for a fight. At least then I don’t say something horribly racist to them.” Nyreen said with a slight chuckle. Her eyes scanned the ship taking note of the layout of the ship.

“There’s a lot of us. But our main crew is Joker, our pilot, and his.....assistant...E.D.I., They’re usually on the bridge. Tali, Quarian engineer. Chakwas is our doctor. Liara is....uh, sort of a jack-of-all-trades: historian with  range of contacts. James Vega is usually down below too, tweaking weapons or helping Cortez. There are other people around but if you need help getting situated one of those people can help out. Otherwise, you’ll see people at meal times or around.”

“I’m usually around too. Usually, I’m up in the war room, so if you need anything just ask. Meal times are served 05:30, 11:00, and 18:00. If you have any food intolerances, let the cook know as soon as possible. He can pick something up before we leave the Citadel if you need anything particular.” Amelia smiles and extends her hand for a handshake.

[xanisher]

Mass Effect (closed rp)

[mostlysobersecurity]

xanisher:

Nyreen turned and looked at Amelia. “I… Well.. This might sound stupid, but I wanted a place where people weren’t going to give me weird looks.” She said.

“Obviously you have met other Turians. Being on the citadel you see them everywhere. I am one of the few who look like this. It’s a really rare genetic defect that makes you look like this.” She said as she walked over to Amelia.

“Not that I didn’t like the people I worked with, hell I thought I’d never get to see the Normandy, let alone be on it. I thought I’d be with the Hell Jumpers for life.” Nyreen said.

“They called me Ghost or even the name Reaper. Though obviously not like those ugly bastards we are fighting. I was the best of them, so my commander put in a request to be put here on the front lines of making a difference.” She said with a bit of pride in her voice.

“So what is Shepard like? Or the crew really. I’d love to meet them all. I hear the Archangel of Omega is here. I’d love to give him some crap for not inviting me in on the fun.” She said with a chuckle thinking about seeing a semi-familiar face.

Amelia takes a moment to try to remember the information. It’ll be in her file but nothing wrong with keeping her ears open. “You might get weird looks for a week or two but it’ll stop once people get used to you it should be fine. We’re all pretty close here, generally.” Like family, you’re closer with some people than others. Either way, everyone is on board to save the galaxy. “After two weeks you can start punching people who can’t figure out how to mind their own business, yeah?” Amelia chuckles.

“Shepard’s quiet. She keeps to herself mostly. If you need a word with her I recommend leaving a message with Traynor by the charts or sending an email. She’s busy and there’s a lot of people on the ship to focus on.” Perhaps it’s her Alliance training that has her at an arm’s length from her commanding officer except at request. “Garrus is awkward but once he warms up, he’s fun. he was originally on the citadel, C-Sec. He’s not too much for the Archangel nickname but I”m sure he’d be happy to see you either way.” 

[xanisher]

Mass Effect (closed rp)

[mostlysobersecurity]

xanisher:

“Constant suicide missions huh? Sounds safer than my last job.” Nyreen joked. She followed Amelia around the ship. It was pretty barren for shore leave.

“So I never got your name. I mean if we are gonna be on the same ship I like to know people’s… Names….” Nyreen trailed off as she saw the memorial wall. She stopped and scanned the list of people. She closed her eyes and slight bowed her head for a moment.

“First Lieutenant Amelia Gecko. Alliance Navy.” No N or Spectre training. A security specialist who somehow managed to land a position of the most prestigious operations in the Reaper fight. “Everyone’s pretty friendly around here.” She leans against the wall opposite from the memorial. It’s odd, as a new member of the Normandy team, Amelia doesn’t know most of the names. It’s a surreal experience when a name is freshly added, hard to believe people enter and exit her world that quickly. “I was working on the Normandy for Admiral Hackett. I was monitoring the installation of security systems when everything went South and Shepard decided to keep me onboard.”

“What made you want to join Shepard’s crew?”

[xanisher]

Mass Effect (closed rp)

[mostlysobersecurity]

xanisher:

(@mostlysobersecurity)

“Wow… I never thought I would see it in person.” A female Turian said. Some people where giving her weird looks. She ignored them as she always had.

Her skin was midnight black, but her face carapace was bone white. Her hands had the same bone white look to them. Her eyes were black with red dots piercing through. Over her right eye were three red lines.

“The SSV Normandy SR-2. It is here at the citadel. Oh to serve on that ship…” She said sounding depressed. She knew she had somewhere to be, but seeing the Normandy was something she couldn’t pass up.

“There you are. I figured you might be here Ms. Nyx.” A male Turian said behind her.

She jump as she turned around. “Commanding officer! I’m sorry I just…” She said getting flustered. The male Turian laughed.

“Calm down Nyreen. I came to give you your new orders. Think you can handle working with a Human N7 Spectre?” He asked holding out a piece of paper.

“Wait… You mean..” she said quick took it and read through it. “Sir… This means.. I’ll be leaving your company.” She said sounding a bit sad.

“Yes and we will all miss you Nyreen. Though I’m sure the guys will be glad to know that you won’t be out performing them anymore. I think I see your tour guide of your new home.” He said pointing out a female human. “Give them hell Ghost.” He said with a salute.

“I will sir.” She said returning his salute. She made her way over to the woman. She kind of dusted off her black armor. She liked it looking sharp when she met people. “Um excuse me. I was told you were my tour guide. I’m Nyreen Nyx.” She said tapping the girl on the shoulder.

Time on the Citadel was rarely a break and rather another round of work. Stocking personal weapons or ship maintenance left time for an odd drink. This trip routed Amelia from liquor to a tour of the spaceship she’d felt trapped on the last few days. 

Still, the recycled oxygen and ships docking in and out was a good sight, even if it would be as far into the Citadel as she would get. It’s easy to get lost, easy to lose time. Her data pad’s gone idle by the time her gaze has been drawn back to it. Pulled back to reality after a tap on the shoulder. 

“Ah, yes, Nyreen.” Amelia extends her hand for a shake. “Welcome to the crew. The Normandy will be better off for it.” She led the woman to the entrance. The deck mostly empty. 

“Well, you’ll have your bunk down below. Normandy’s state of the art. Mess hall, bar, a luxury ship really. It wasn’t really meant for this kind of combat, but hey. Makes everything nicer for the crew.” 

She drags her hand across the datapad to wake it up. “Other than the constant suicide missions. If you live, you get to have a drink and stare out of a view window.”

[mostlysobersecurity]

ooc:

In light of Mass Effect: A......

would anyone be interested in an me: A or me roleplay?

[mostlysobersecurity]

purgatorydancer:

“I am afraid, fair lady, that since you are receiving this information free of charge, there is no such box available. I offer this knowledge of the goodness of my heart, sere! Should your date not be what you wish for, here is my contact information, and you can ring me up to deal with any pesky bugs. My charge in such an instance would be a drink, at most.”

“How, chivalrous. I’ll call you up if need an exterminator. A date exterminator anyway. I think I have to buy you a drink as a thank you anyway, with the advice being free and all, a drink is the least I can do.”

[mostlysobersecurity]

purgatorydancer:

“Popping shirt buttons is a technique best suited for someone who knows you, or for a simple night of simple pleasures. To dissuade a would-be paramour or pièce de nuit, do nearly the opposite. Have your back mostly turned towards them, but have them at the corner of your eye so they cannot surprise you. Lean away from them. Do not make eye contact, save to give chilling looks over your shoulder when most necessary. A lot of ‘sorry, what were you saying?’ implies you were not listening, and do not care.”

“Well, there we go. I’m all set for my date whether it goes well or not. Expert advice and a new dress will get me through this Saturday night.” Date nights were few and far between given the Reaper conflict, and a few dating tips not from the back of a magazine is assuring. “Is there a complaint box, just in case your advice backfires?”

[mostlysobersecurity]

purgatorydancer:

“It is unfortunately simply ‘one of those things’. It implies one is either getting rather into another person’s space, or cannot find something else to talk about. Leaning in against a table or counter towards them but keeping some distance, maintaining eye contact for as long as the other person wishes to, that is a better indicator of interest. Always have your body facing towards the person of interest, since it is a body language cue of interest. Bodies tend to face towards people of interest to them.”

“Or I just pop my shirt buttons, right?” She chuckles, swirling her drink in her glass. “Kidding, of course. I like to think I’m a bit classier than that. Hopefully. Maybe not as much after I’ve had a few drinks. But, this is good your advice is good. Tips on what to do to convey I’m not into them?”

[mostlysobersecurity]

purgatorydancer:

“If it is somebody you know, who will understand you are not intoxicated nor…what is the word…a…a ‘creeper’? ‘Crawler’? Then yes, you may do so. But as something to say when trying to make someone comfortable with you…no.”

“Yeah. Now that you say it like that it’s good dating advice. Can’t really tell someone they smell nice without sounding creepy.”

[purgatorydancer]

“You wish for my assistance? A tip: do not tell someone that they smell nice.”

[mostlysobersecurity]

“As in never or? I mean what if they do smell nice?”

[mostlysobersecurity]

killerpigfarmer:

When Amelia answers, she looks…different. Not quite as gaunt. A little more life in her face. A little more color in her hair even. Her eyes, though. That’s the big change. Bright. Fierce. She looks him straight in the eyes when she opens the door now, not down at the floor.

The gun in her hand. That helps, probably.

Lucius’s jaw sets. He lifts his eyebrows in warning. “Put the goddamn shotgun away.” And he shows her his palms. I come in peace. “Does it look like I’m packing?”

“If either of you knew how to hide a gun it’d be you.” She lets the barrels dip down pointed at his legs rather than her chest. Even if Lucius has a gun, he’s not gonna shoot anyone unprovoked. And the provoker is missing. “Where’s Marcus?” She maintains eye contact. It’s hard to imagine Lucius hurting haer, but she would have imagined it’d be hard for Lucius to follow her across two state borders. “Don’t the two of you have jobs to get to?”

[mostlysobersecurity]

killerpigfarmer:

@mostlysobersecurity gets a stater!​

“Amelia!” Lucius bangs on the door. “Open up!”

Things Lucius can do: sneak out of the hotel room before Marcus gets up to provide a little warning.

Things Lucius can’t do: hold Marcus off forever. They’ve already made it to Texas. Anything can happen in Texas.

It’s now or never. And he’s not going to stop slamming his fist into the door until someone opens up.

The girls were out and Ellis was at work. The warning had already come through L.J. and Amelia had been sitting on the living room couch handgun in hand. Perhaps it could end with her. A bullet through her or Marcus’ head and everything would be over.

The door knocks and she stands. It takes an exhale to steady herself. Bullets killed quick and could be painless if a person wanted the death to be painless. She loosened her grip the gun’s handle. Seeing the dotted pattern impression disappear from her hand. The knocking doesn’t stop and she moves look through the front room curtains.Lucius. Alone. No car with Marcus waiting either.

She relaxes a little bit and undoes a latch on the door, keeping the chain lock locked. “What do you want?” The door is cracked enough for her to peek through and poke the muzzle of the gun through the crack. 

[mostlysobersecurity]

killerpigfarmer sent:

“Happy birthday, Red.”

“You’re a jackass, Lucius.”

[mostlysobersecurity]

killerpigfarmer:

Immediately, the ginger withdraws into herself. She shrinks and caves around her chest, her hands struggling in her lap. Lucius is a tightly coiled spring. He wants to help her. Just like he wanted to save the members of his troop as he watched them fade away one by one at the hands of the Japanese POW camps.

Ironic, then, to survive all that just to get tortured by people who claimed they were trying to make him better.

She didn’t deserve it. He didn’t know her well, but he knew she didn’t deserve it. He takes her cigarette and sucks it between his lips. The paper tastes old. Everything here is dying. It calms his nerves a little, at least, takes a bit of edge off. “Which we had some ice cream–cream–scream.“ If he thought about it, he could see where his words got jumbled, but it’s hard to pick it apart now. When his eyes turn back to her and he sees her like that, he reaches out and his fingertips just barely brush the back of her hand. “I ain’t gonna let them take you.”

She retracts her hand as if it was struck by a snake. A guard finally walks over to deliver some food and he drops a metal tray with a half serving of bread between them. Amelia snatches it as the guard walks away and starts furiously ripping off mouth fulls. 

For a few moments, there is nothing but her and the bread. Eventually, Lucius comes into focus between a few bits of stringy hair. He’s not scrunching up in a ball, and perhaps it would be wise to try and keep a friend who would be more difficult to tear from his bed in the middle of the night.

“Here.” She rips off half of what’s left after she bit into it like a wild dog. She slides it along te table and let’s it rest in front of him. “They don’t care about any of us. They’ll kill us once they get bored. No one even notices. No one cares.”

[mostlysobersecurity]

killerpigfarmer:

She asks about her friend at Lucius knits his eyebrows. Caitlyn. Cait. Purring. Purring? Growling, more like. Last time he saw her, she was growling in a wheelchair as they pushed her out of the room, spittle dripping from the corner of her mouth.

Thought he saw some bad things in the war. This? This doesn’t help, that’s for sure. 

“Think she’s uh…probably not coming back around. Caitlyn–c-cat, cat, cat. Mm.” The word gets stuck on his tongue and he sucks in a tight breath to try to stall his tongue. Jumbling words–that’s new. Started last week and has just been getting worse. His fingers tighten in a ball, tight, and his eyes flicker over her cigarette. His chest feels compressed and he needs air. “Y’think I could…” Words drift. Have a drag?

She blows smoke in his face before passing the cigarette off. He helped, might as well try and make a friend, especially if her old one is gone. She taps her nails on the table and uses her other hand to cover her mouth. 

Caitlyn was nice. Stabbed a few people back during the war but she was nice to Amelia. Didn’t talk much but liked to play with hair. She’d brush it every night before bed. They felt like school girls, a breadth of gloom. “She was blonde, and thin, and her favorite food was chocolate ice cream,” Amelia mumbles to herself and starts rocking back and forth in her seat. She wants some shred of her friend to cling onto but her memory will fail her and there won’t be a shred of Caitlyn left.

[mostlysobersecurity]

killerpigfarmer:

Lucius sits down across from her, elbows on the table, shoulders hunched. Everything about him is turned inward, even as he constantly checks the periphery of his vision. Waiting. If anyone so much as comes near him, he’ll snap. Unleash the springs in his joints and just kill them all.

No. He’s trying to focus. The woman in front of him helps. Have they met before? Maybe. Maybe they do this every day, same damn thing. His memory is getting hazy. 

“Coffee,” he repeats. Like an idiot. Idiot. “Y’shouldn’t drink so much. It ain’t good for you.” Shocks. Those aren’t good for you. But coffee, sure. It’s nice to talk about something normal for a second.

“I prefer being awake.” Things happen when you drift off. It’s best to stay awake, even if it makes her eye twitch as she staves off sleep. The kitchen door opens but the server is stopped short of any residents by the nurses who grab the trays and break the bread between them with a laugh.

Finally, she takes a drag off her cigarette and lets a pile of ash slump onto the table. It’s a relief to talk to someone who can at least form a coherent thought. Her memory is bad, and she can’t seem to recall is face, but with how often they’re jostled about it’s easy enough to see someone once and never again. “Have you seen Caitlyn?” The question bubbles up and pops out of her.mouth. “She’s my roommate and she’s been gone for a week.” Ripped from her bed and hasn’t been returned yet. 

“They won’t let me ask about her.”