Re: All the king's horses, all the king's men. 3.5/? F!Shep/Garrus
anonymous
April 19 2012, 01:13:58 UTC
“He’s a cop?” a slow coil of dread was uncurlig in Shepard’s brain, ugly puzzle pieces starting to slide into place.
“Ex-C-Sec apparently,” Decker shrugged, “Kuril says his Daddy was some high-up detective; he’s been posting rewards all over the extranet for news on his kid. Aint that sweet?” the merc scrubbed dark navy blood off the baton onto a stained sleeve. “Warden had us cut one of those head spike things off and send it to his Da,” Decker mimicked the sweep of a turian fringe with one hand, “never heard anyone scream like he did when we cut him.”
The red cybernetics in Shepard’s skin felt burning hot, a contrast to the cold sickness spreading through her. Stepping forward she tapped sharply on the glass of the cell, “hey” she rasped, getting no reaction; “hey, HEY” she banged the heel of her hand hard against the barrier.
With a slight swagger, Decker turned to slam the baton against the glass, “Oi ugly! The lady apparently wants a look at your pretty face, head up.” When the turian hunched his face harder aginst his knees, the merc’s voice turned coldly ugly, “ I said head up, cuttlebone, else I have to come in there, and then we got a real problem.”
As the turian jerkily raised his head, turning his face towards her, Shepard had a brief moment when she honestly thought her hunch had been wrong. The last she had seen of Garrus was him waving from the Citadel dock, pale eyes bright, mandibles flared in that distinctive, sharp toothed, turian smile that had taken such a long time to get used to. This turian prisoner had dull, dead eyes, one half of his face was a chewed up mess of burns, twisted flesh, and the dull gleam of exposed bone. The mandible on the damaged side flopped losely against his jaw, that, coupled with the sheared off spine of his fringe served to give his thin face a lopsided appearance. But even through the inguries and gore, the sweep of his navy blue facial tattoos was unmistakeable, the dull haze of his eyes was still pale blue, the damaged plating and hide a familiar blend of silver-grey and tan.
“Oh fuck” Shepard tilts her head to rest her forehead against the filthy, stained glass, ...."Garrus.”
“Ex-C-Sec apparently,” Decker shrugged, “Kuril says his Daddy was some high-up detective; he’s been posting rewards all over the extranet for news on his kid. Aint that sweet?” the merc scrubbed dark navy blood off the baton onto a stained sleeve. “Warden had us cut one of those head spike things off and send it to his Da,” Decker mimicked the sweep of a turian fringe with one hand, “never heard anyone scream like he did when we cut him.”
The red cybernetics in Shepard’s skin felt burning hot, a contrast to the cold sickness spreading through her. Stepping forward she tapped sharply on the glass of the cell, “hey” she rasped, getting no reaction; “hey, HEY” she banged the heel of her hand hard against the barrier.
With a slight swagger, Decker turned to slam the baton against the glass, “Oi ugly! The lady apparently wants a look at your pretty face, head up.” When the turian hunched his face harder aginst his knees, the merc’s voice turned coldly ugly, “ I said head up, cuttlebone, else I have to come in there, and then we got a real problem.”
As the turian jerkily raised his head, turning his face towards her, Shepard had a brief moment when she honestly thought her hunch had been wrong. The last she had seen of Garrus was him waving from the Citadel dock, pale eyes bright, mandibles flared in that distinctive, sharp toothed, turian smile that had taken such a long time to get used to. This turian prisoner had dull, dead eyes, one half of his face was a chewed up mess of burns, twisted flesh, and the dull gleam of exposed bone. The mandible on the damaged side flopped losely against his jaw, that, coupled with the sheared off spine of his fringe served to give his thin face a lopsided appearance. But even through the inguries and gore, the sweep of his navy blue facial tattoos was unmistakeable, the dull haze of his eyes was still pale blue, the damaged plating and hide a familiar blend of silver-grey and tan.
“Oh fuck” Shepard tilts her head to rest her forehead against the filthy, stained glass, ...."Garrus.”
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Ow. My heart :<
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