SERVICE COMES WITH ITS MANY BENEFITS, but — at least out in a warzone — fresh food isn't typically among them. shepard knew very well there would be a crowd clamouring around every site on elysium that's offered a hot meal to the ground forces that battered off the mercenaries' advancement. there are few things he hates more than the bustling and elbowing of an ill-behaved crowd. and still, this morning, he'd found himself weighing the benefit of having something to eat that hasn't come out of a plastic and aluminium pouch against the hassle of enduring the swathes of soldiers that have no doubt already enveloped the nearest working kitchen. like mosquitos swarming.
... but he didn't have much else to do. and so here he is, the expected elbow jammed into his rib, someone's shoulder bumping persistently against his back, and an annoyingly tall soldier's upper sleeve pressed up against his nose and brow. it's been just short of an hour, and he's finally caught sight of the counter up ahead — he thinks he sees one of ahern's boys piling a plate high enough to feed four men, to the chagrin of the soldiers directly behind him. the entire place stinks of heavy cooking oil and of exhaustion and sweat. especially sweat, but maybe that's just the unwashed underarm of the man in front of him.
shepard wriggles away, wrinkling his nose as he extracts himself. with just a little too much force — as soon as he yanks himself free from the mass of people, the back of him's careened into another body behind him. he turns to toss a glance over his shoulder, maybe a curt apology pushed through gritted teeth ... but something about the face of the soldier he's shoved a few paces back holds his attention. shepard pauses, angling himself to face the man as much as he can without losing his spot in the queue.
" — hey. i know you? " maybe the guy's just got that kind of face. ( though shepard can't say for sure. he's never been very good with faces that he hasn't had to memorise for the sake of some detail or other. )
and, frankly, every face on elysium is beginning to blend. the relief of victory hasn't quite settled in yet ... not when the colony still looks the part of a battlefield, in every direction for as far as the eye can see. every soldier he's passed is haggard and weary and desperate for respite; in what still feels like temporary quiet, the majority of ground troops have been redirected to moving wreckage, building and managing temporary shelter, and handling civilian rescue efforts. no point in sitting and waiting for the brass to send reassurance from above that the mercenaries and pirates aren't coming back.
still, this soldier's face doesn't quite fit that descriptor. someone he caught a glimpse of in basic, then? maybe n-school? ... or maybe another biotic. that would explain the tingling of shock that passed through the patch of shepard's skin that made brief contact with his. regardless — shepard finds his interest piqued.
@prophes1ed ∗ as plotted.
