It had been a long time since he ventured out into Citadel space by himself. The first time was on his pilgrimage, and even then his time out there was spent mostly on a ship. As a Reegar, he was inclined to bring back war spoils as his gift to the Flotilla. He wasn’t interested in using his nearly innately acquired engineering skills as a Quarian to fulfill his duty. Because of it, most of the information he had on Citadel space outside of the Flotilla was based on what he had heard from others.
Quarians were the rats of society. Frugal thieves who were watched with piercing eyes by those who possessed anything of value. Many of his people had the inclination to keep their heads down when they were out and about so as to avoid getting into trouble. Kal himself saw this as simply another fight. His entire life was about protecting his people with a rifle but he had the presence of mind to see that the only battles he could participate in for the benefit of his people weren’t on the battlefield. They could be waged here, too, on these Citadel walkways.
To do so, he walked freely. Kept his head up and hoped for the opportunity to show the Council races that his people weren’t rats and that they weren’t scared, either. For the time being, as he followed the waypoint on his omnitool towards the rendesvouz point with Commander Shepard, nothing happened in particular that made him feel targeted.
Eventually, the exercise of keeping an eye on the people who surrounded him came to a welcome end. Among that sea of people, Commander Shepard revealed herself, cutting into the space in front of him with a strong salute before reciprocating one of his own. Afterwards, he placed his arms atop his lower back and stood at attention.
One thing that he appreciated about the visor that he wore was that it hid the trajectories of his eyes. At the current distance, he was able to angle them down with enough subtelty to note her garb. He had never seen her out of her N7 suit. Humans had the same freedom as the Asari to display portions of their bodies. Too much was considered trashy while small glimpses were considered elegant.
In the end, the sheer thunderous impact of her beauty was somewhat lost on him. Not because it was lacking, but because his culture was so far detached from hers that it couldn’t register. Fortunately, the absence of thunderous physical attraction left enough space for another kind of attraction to flourish.
“Commander Shepard,” he returned. “Fortunately there weren’t any Geth between us this time. There were no delays. You look well.”
That last comment about her appearance was more thought out than she could have realized. Honestly, he had no idea what the signs of sickness among human beings were. If she had approached him sniffling and coughing, he might have guessed that was normal behavior unless told otherwise, or unless he realized that it was a similar behavior seen among some sick Quarians. For now, all he could do was go off on the obvious. She was erect, her posture strong, and her voice full of zeal. On those standards, she seemed just fine.
“I’ve brought you a gift. A nice piece of Quarian engineering. I don’t have it with me now because I didn’t want to force you to carry it around all day but before the night ends, I look forward to presenting it to you. I’ll admit that it might not be too creative. We’re both soldiers, so what I have for you would naturally fall under those terms. Maybe in the future I can put more thought into it.”
EXOTIC, FOREIGN & RECHERCHÉ ; therein lies an even stranger man underneath the exosuit. A creature, even. Something lurks far below titanium & steel & semi OPAQUE visor with his ever quiet & studious eyes aglow like a double-vision view of Polaris in the ink black sky at NIGHT during the coldest winter. As someone who is not prisoner sentenced to an environmental suit, she doesn’t miss even the finest details. She notices everything. He adorns a lovely contrast of crimson & gold that almost gives him a look of ROYALTY ( if there was once sovereignty in the age-old history of quarian culture ) she wonders if he chose it for himself. A crowned prince, son of a wealthy Persian Shah.
This particular SHADE is such an alluring one that invokes very palpable perceptions that tickle the senses ; it is dark as the blood that spills from severed veins & capillaries of ADVERSARY as it begins to catch air. It insights passion ; the kind of Freudian subtext writers of the 14th century wax poetic about. Those who fear red feared only the APPETITE that will give them. Does he wear this idea as armor with intent or is she much too drawn into an unnecessarily COMPLEX inner monologue?
His baritone voice cocooning her; STABS the air. She laughs throatily when he tells her that she looks well, shrugging her shoulders & meeting his gaze. ‘Well’ is synonymous to healthy & health is extremely IMPORTANT to the quariankind. She doesn’t over-analyze it & she certainly does not plunge herself into a deep rumination ——— all for the sake of deciding to keep things simple going forward.
Holographic advertisements BUZZ all around the docking bay of the station from cylindrical columns ; pushing narratives of cosmetic enhancement procedures, box office information of various new movies & plays, & an HONORABLE mention of the Silver Coast Casino. Her translators pick up a typical ‘General American’ newscaster accent ——— mostly intelligible, occasionally garbled over equally generic tune.
❝I try,❞ Her first response is laced with level-headed snark. ❝You too ; like I said before, you’re one tough son of a gun.❞
Her flattery is one of the rarest commodities in the galaxy. He has EARNED it, of course. Steps back a couple of steps once she notices that she has brought herself far too close, invading a PERSONAL domain of his psyche’s comfortable limits of intimacy. Had she crept closer, she would consider pursuing the prize & peel him from his weighty titanium safe haven like a PRESENT to be unwrapped. It’s selfish & it’s crass.
Lucille’s face brightens up at the mention of a gift. Her glossed lips are coated in a celestial shimmer that stretches when the corners of mouth tugs a SMILE coupled with arms tucked beneath her breasts. From what she has learned about his people ( through her intermediary, tali’zorah ——— stemmed from light & subtle prodding ), gifts are extremely hard to come by & is not to be taken lightly & they must be useful lest they are considered a BURDEN.
She decides that she likes him.
❝ ——— You didn’t have to get me anything, Reegar, ❞ There’s bass in her voice. Of confidence. To filter out the creeping chill of sheepishness she’s feeling swelling over the nape of her neck. ❝In return, I’ll be sure to get your Citadel cherry popped. But first, we settle the score.❞
Turns on her heels & waves a gesture for him to trickle behind.
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