Re: Fill: Wax On, Wax Off, fShep/Garrus 2/9
anonymous
May 28 2013, 01:40:17 UTC
He attended to his family business. He was there as one of many witnesses from various branches of the greater clan for entering the names of a cohort of new infants into the Records after their plates hardened enough to be traditionally presented to the public. He liked Recording Days, actually. Babies were simply cute and they were perfect centers of attention. Innocent and new, with no pressures on them to do anything of their potential.
Which was what made standing witness during the Oserun where another cohort of cousins were promoted to Third Tier and scattered cousins, aunts, and uncles from across the clan rose to their next prospective Tiers also, an exercise in bittersweet endurance. The eager questions from his cousins during the party after about what it was like in the thick of the Battle of the Citadel, the most significant field of action in recent memory, and the looks of respect and awe from their young faces were offset by the speculative gazes of his father's contemporaries.
His service record was now different. Served with humans. But took essential part in, lest anybody forget, the most significant battle in recent memory (of import to all Council species, to say nothing of saving the Council itself) and successfully completing a myriad of field missions on the way towards completing the ultimate objective, under the auspices of a Council Spectre... (human or not, Shepard is a Spectre was due respect on her own merits) And different meant they were all reevaluating and weighing him against the rest of his age cohort, tallying up amongst themselves over drinks on whether or not they'd make any formal written letters of recommendation on his behalf for the next Oserun.
It had been easier, last year. Last year, he just overheard the general opinion that he was doing well, but not quite well enough for any formal recommendation. He was coming along fine, if only he'd just apply himself with actually contributing to the spirit of C-Sec by cooperating instead of asking his everlasting questions, sighed many of the older, concerned family members who went over the evaluation reports sent over from C-Sec. (Some of the distinctly elderly and therefore allowed more leeway relatives cackled 'But isn't that part of his job description as a detective?' 'Suspects, not his superiors!' his father had bristled.)
Argh.
Garrus was also, for the first time, having to seriously watch his replies to certain distinguished elderly ladies of his clan. For they were asking very pointed questions indeed about his social life and he knew then that he was now in serious consideration on their matchmaking lists. Not recommendable enough for an Oserun, but hey, good enough to start flinging daughters of coworkers and friends at, judging from one or another of said esteemed matrons approaching his father with their omnitools flaring to life and ominously long contact lists being scrolled through.
Double argggh.
He wasn't going to honestly say that he'd looked forward to entering this particular stage of his life.
Oh, he knew it was well-meaning, traditional. Good, especially because it was traditional. But in his opinion (not that anybody asked on such matters, no, he was taken seriously only when it came to rifle modding recommendations and tutoring of various cousins over vidcalls on their math homework) he wasn't so socially inept that he couldn't find somebody worth marrying and liking them on his own, thanks. No assistance needed.
Really? Some traitorous part of his mind butted in. When you can't determine what the last words from Shepard actually meant on a simple omnitool call? Come on, you may be a literal hotshot on the battlefield, but anything subtler than an actual punch to the face from a woman have been turned into amusing anecdotes exemplifying awkwardness and humiliation amongst coworkers in C-Sec on how NOT to get laid.
Garrus glared accusingly at his drink. His mood shouldn't have crapped out so soon.
Anyway, he inhaled, made very optimistic thoughts on the tour he was going to take Shepard on tomorrow, and rallied enough cheer and good will to enjoy himself for his cousins' sake at their graduation party.
Which was what made standing witness during the Oserun where another cohort of cousins were promoted to Third Tier and scattered cousins, aunts, and uncles from across the clan rose to their next prospective Tiers also, an exercise in bittersweet endurance. The eager questions from his cousins during the party after about what it was like in the thick of the Battle of the Citadel, the most significant field of action in recent memory, and the looks of respect and awe from their young faces were offset by the speculative gazes of his father's contemporaries.
His service record was now different. Served with humans. But took essential part in, lest anybody forget, the most significant battle in recent memory (of import to all Council species, to say nothing of saving the Council itself) and successfully completing a myriad of field missions on the way towards completing the ultimate objective, under the auspices of a Council Spectre... (human or not, Shepard is a Spectre was due respect on her own merits) And different meant they were all reevaluating and weighing him against the rest of his age cohort, tallying up amongst themselves over drinks on whether or not they'd make any formal written letters of recommendation on his behalf for the next Oserun.
It had been easier, last year. Last year, he just overheard the general opinion that he was doing well, but not quite well enough for any formal recommendation. He was coming along fine, if only he'd just apply himself with actually contributing to the spirit of C-Sec by cooperating instead of asking his everlasting questions, sighed many of the older, concerned family members who went over the evaluation reports sent over from C-Sec. (Some of the distinctly elderly and therefore allowed more leeway relatives cackled 'But isn't that part of his job description as a detective?' 'Suspects, not his superiors!' his father had bristled.)
Argh.
Garrus was also, for the first time, having to seriously watch his replies to certain distinguished elderly ladies of his clan. For they were asking very pointed questions indeed about his social life and he knew then that he was now in serious consideration on their matchmaking lists. Not recommendable enough for an Oserun, but hey, good enough to start flinging daughters of coworkers and friends at, judging from one or another of said esteemed matrons approaching his father with their omnitools flaring to life and ominously long contact lists being scrolled through.
Double argggh.
He wasn't going to honestly say that he'd looked forward to entering this particular stage of his life.
Oh, he knew it was well-meaning, traditional. Good, especially because it was traditional. But in his opinion (not that anybody asked on such matters, no, he was taken seriously only when it came to rifle modding recommendations and tutoring of various cousins over vidcalls on their math homework) he wasn't so socially inept that he couldn't find somebody worth marrying and liking them on his own, thanks. No assistance needed.
Really? Some traitorous part of his mind butted in. When you can't determine what the last words from Shepard actually meant on a simple omnitool call? Come on, you may be a literal hotshot on the battlefield, but anything subtler than an actual punch to the face from a woman have been turned into amusing anecdotes exemplifying awkwardness and humiliation amongst coworkers in C-Sec on how NOT to get laid.
Garrus glared accusingly at his drink. His mood shouldn't have crapped out so soon.
Anyway, he inhaled, made very optimistic thoughts on the tour he was going to take Shepard on tomorrow, and rallied enough cheer and good will to enjoy himself for his cousins' sake at their graduation party.
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