This is a WIP I’ve been carrying around with me for almost two years now. I knew early on I wanted to write something about my C-Sec Crew and how they fare during the Cerberus takeover in ME3. I mean, the Citadel is big, and I don’t think that only infiltrating C-Sec HQ is enough to subdue a whole police force? So the premise is that C-Sec officers and office personnel who managed to escape the takeover have retreated into the wards and are trying to put together a team so they can take back HQ - forced to hide without comms, without armour or weapons.
So yeah. It’s gonna be Chiho’s POV because she has a loooot of underlying issues that she gotta work through, and I thought it could be interesting to see it from her perspective, with the underlying “Is anything really worth fighting for if the galaxy’s going to hell anyway?”. Lots of friendship and relationship issues.
I halfway abandoned the whole project because back when I started it, I knew I wasn’t yet good enough a writer to do it in a satisfactory way. Right now, I think I might be able to pull it off, but I’m dealing with the “Is anything really worth fighting for if the world’s going to hell anyway” so it’s gotten quite personal. We’ll see how I feel about it.
Have an excerpt:
Setting one foot after the other, Chiho trudged on, until Quintus’ hand shot out to grab her arm and tug her into an alley. Giuliani stumbled after them, his breathing loud and harried in her ears.
The place was run-down, from first glance, with gutted engines, machines and a couple dust-covered skycars all over the compound. Not the most inviting place, but it was as good as any right now.
“Lemme bypass the door.”
Quintus didn’t waste any time. His fingers were already flying over the controls of his omni-tool, working all of his hacking skills acquired. He was good, Chiho had to admit. Quintus liked to brag, liked to show exactly how proficient he was. It had annoyed Chiho at first, all those bigmouthed mannerisms, the insufferable catcalls, the quips. It had taken her quite a while to get behind it, to realize that, same as her, Quintus was insecure, and longed for belonging somewhere. His fear only manifested completely differently than hers did.
Pressed against the cool wall, Chiho listened with one ear to Quintus’ concentrated purring, while the other strained to pick up any irregular sound from the street. But apart from the automated voice booming through the streets declaring their bullshit message of ‘Stay Calm and You Won’t Be Harmed’, nothing happened.
Beside her, Giuliani kept sobbing. Dry, ragged gulps of air. His face, always so cheerful and gentle, was puffy and red. At a loss of what to do, Chiho awkwardly rubbed his arm, though all it did was make him cry harder. It was a blessing when Quintus uttered a triumphant ‘ah!’ and the door gave way to a dim corridor.
It’s GREAT. Do you know how much better my aim gets when I drink bourbon.
HINt. IT’S A LOT.
BTW, your username is REALLY COOL, where does it come from? I AM SO HAPPY YOU TALK TO ME. I LOVE TALKING TO PEOPLe. IS it weird I’m a digital extrovert and a real life introvert?
YOU ROCK AND I AM REALLY HAPPY TO HAVE MET YOU. THANK YOU FOR BEING AWESOME.
Not really any spoilers here, but I’m just pleased with how the beginning is treating me.
Full disclaimer that bits and pieces of this have already moved around and will probably continue to be rearranged in the final / published draft.
If this is your kind of thing (you know who you are) -- then enjoy a bit of a taste past the cut :)
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They’re docked at the Citadel between assignments and Saren is nowhere to be found, which means Nihlus has the ship’s workbench all to himself. He’s been waiting for some uninterrupted time to give his rifle the care it deserves.
His tools are scattered in a haphazard and useful array within easy reach, there’s dance music playing on his omni-tool, and he’s got a selection of mods that would make a Terminus arms dealer jealous. Just the way he likes it.
The one thing he misses most about his old unit is serving as the de facto armorer.
Looking back, his stint in Basic would have been even more difficult without getting instantly picked up by the Fleet’s competitive shooting team. A few interservice citations for expert marksmanship went a long way toward redeeming his mercenary background in the eyes of his superiors.
When he first saw Saren follow up with a biotic throw to compensate for a wide shot, he thought it was on purpose. A Spectre tactic to startle an enemy into revealing their position. Risky, but permissible if deliberate.
He’s seen it happen too often over the last few months for it to be anything other than a sign of deeper issues.
Nihlus knows with all the certainty of experience that Saren’s pistol technique is terrible, but he also likes his mandibles where they are. Attached to his face.
Inviting Saren to practice at the range might still come off as too obvious a criticism, but if not him, then who?
The rest of ST&R appears inclined to overlook a modicum of sloppy handling from a fellow Spectre. In truth, Nihlus wants to avoid a high-speed introduction to the business end of a bulkhead as much as the next person.
Still, none of them are being forced to listen to Saren’s kinetic barriers crackle under fire.
Not that his biotic strength isn’t astounding, but that kind of force can’t be sustainable in the long term. Being the youngest turian Spectre in the history of the Hierarchy has to come with a few downsides, some no doubt including the physical costs of the job.
Where and how he’s feeling the strain is still a mystery.
Saren is far from old. His times on the ST&R obstacle course don’t lie, and Nihlus has gotten destroyed in the sparring ring often enough to know that it’s not a matter of strength. Saren hits like a krogan, even with his amps out.
Nihlus is still musing at his workbench and so engrossed in tuning his rifle that he doesn’t notice Alleia’s message at first.
-
Part 1 & Part 2 are on AO3:
This will have no bearing on your evaluation. | Above center of mass in all respects.
Prompt: What kind of traits make a character interesting?
I only have one answer for this, and that’s because I don’t start to write characters with any particular traits in mind.
The Singular Trait: Personal conflict and contradictions.
We all have them! We’re human. I don’t think about ‘what kind’ of person I’m writing or ‘what traits’ they have. Traits are relative and established only through actions on screen.
What they’re called, good or bad or brave or cowardly, is also more or less irrelevant to how I think about character. While the concept of traits may be useful in a general outlining sense, the most challenging thing for me is writing into a POV perspective or character voice.
I know a character is ready to be written when they have a crystallized voice and viewpoint in my mind, and that they’re capable of carrying on conversations and debating options with other characters. When they’re able to argue their case.
Another thing I do to help myself develop and discover who I’m writing is to consider their role in the story, or what kinds of character roles might be needed for the kind of story I’m telling:
For ‘Air Needing Light,’ this approach was critical to developing the side characters in Saren’s turian Blackwatch squad. I looked at what sort of supporting functions might need to be performed on a team, and then I considered who might have been selected for those duties, their histories (including with each other), and their personal motivations and goals apart from the primary situation. This story is about being part of a team.
For ‘the fate of poets in a republic,’ this approach gave me a turian translator and a human linguist on similar footing who begin by distrusting and misinterpreting each other, but by the end of the story recognize and genuinely respect the other’s differing needs and viewpoints. This story is about recognition and translation.
For ‘This will have no bearing on your evaluation.’ this approach gave me Nihlus’s OC friend Alleia, who shows up again in ‘Above center of mass in all respects.’ as necessary ride-or-die backup AND a witness to the madness. No one would believe Nihlus if she weren’t there to confirm his version of events. These stories are about trust and vulnerability (professional and personal).
For ‘The husbandry of victory is blood,’ this approach gave me Nihlus’s entire OC family, a pair of batarian grandparents who love him very much, and an OC Blackwatch trainer who recognizes the value in what he brings to the Hierarchy (and helps him see it in himself). This story is about identity.
I don’t have too much loyalty to any particular character traits. It’s more about trying to pick out the central personal conflict, and then seeing how that grows and intertwines with the kind of story I want to tell.
For readers of “This will have no bearing on your evaluation.”: a wip snippet of a still-untitled continuation about six months later.
Not guaranteed to appear in this form in the published version, but still an example of chaotic dumbass Nihlus being entertaining.
Under the cut. ;)
They spend enough time in the Verge that Citadel security protocols haven’t come up during their status checks.
Like the bit where his secure Hierarchy credentials have expired. Typical bureaucratic process, right? Or it would be if he hadn’t been expecting those credentials to work.
Turns out ST&R trainees don’t get full Spectre status privileges in the database. That would be too easy.
Saren’s lucky that Nihlus finds an armed escort entertaining.
And because they’re taking a side trip during another assignment, he’s now mixed in with the civilians while Saren takes his usual route through the priority channels.
Nihlus can hear the faint, regular pinging of the ident-scan system from his place in the back of the queue at the arrivals terminal.
A human child is staring at the batarian in front of him. She’s blinking her eyes at the volus on her omni-tool in a way that means she’s been on the call about ten minutes longer than she wants. He and the child watch her try to hang up for another half hour while the line moves forward step by agonizing step.
At least no one will be tailing him today. Too slow and boring. If Nihlus were spying on himself, he’d move on to a more interesting target. Or admire the dedication to staying hidden. Or something.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Normally I don’t fill requests, participate in exchanges, or respond to prompts. I work too slowly and deadlines can straight up kill my motivation.
However!
This year for SpecRecs2021, despite not being actually signed up or officially part of the exchange, I had an idea.
An idea inspired by that particular moment or inflection point in a night of drinking where you’re so sloshed that the entire world -- no matter how absurd! -- makes sense to you. And you just go with whatever happens.
Enter ST&R candidate Nihlus Kryik accidentally trying to pick up his Spectre mentor in a bar, getting ‘robbed’ by an asari dancer at tit-point, and then needing to plan his own funeral when he finally sobers up.
Without a doubt the stupidest thing I have ever written, but I also could not stop laughing while writing it.
I dashed this off in maybe two days? Very-super-secret beta reading by @datsonyat (thank you!) and another fandom friend.
Full disclosure: this story is a stand-alone no-Reapers AU take on a different sort of meeting than the one I’m going to be using for my main Blackwatch!Saren / “Air Needing Light”-verse.
While it is maybe-a-one-shot, there’s a chance I’ll also write some more vignettes for this alternative no-Reapers AU Saren and Nihlus...
Thank you to everyone who has already commented, added kudos, or recommended this fic! It was a real struggle not to fess up to my crimes until the appropriate moment.
