Ahaha, you'll hate me but Shepard/Garrus and #22
LOLOLOLOL I had to make up a new Shepard for this***
The sky was abysmally jovial. Ren squinted. In the distance, against a backdrop of bright blue, a flock of pale, white, fluttery things - the same ones which likely had been chirping happily all through the ceremony - burst into flight. In one fluid motion, Ren raised her arm and fired three shots in quick succession, and three of the white flutters were replaced with three fine sprays of red mist. Under most circumstances, this was the part where satisfaction and a hint of pride would replace whatever else she were feeling; her aim was good, and her weapon - something she’d crafted herself - was the best. Not to mention she’d gotten her revenge on the damn birds.
“Just because you don’t like your relatives doesn’t mean you get to take it out on mine. ”
Ren spun around. Behind her, leaning in an infuriating fashion against the raining of the balcony where she’d sequestered herself, was a turian.
He chuckled. The bastard. “Nice gun.” “Thanks, it’s -” “You’ll want to watch the recoil on those Carnifex models, though. I don’t know about human shoulders, but that one ought to come with a massage therapist. Or at least a backrub.” Ren lifted her eyebrows, and jammed the weapon back into it’s holster protectively. “It isn’t a Carnifex,” she sniffed, looking the turian up and down. Well. She promptly lost her train of thought. He cleared his throat. Thorax. Whatever he had, he cleared it, and looked at her with those sharp little teeth half-bared, like an infuriating elder cousin of one of the nuisances she’d just turned into fine red mist. Not at all attractive. Nope. “I said,” Ren said, looking decidedly away from him. It was bloody hot out here. “It isn’t a Carnifex. I built it myself.” The rest, as they say, is history.
