The Words Unspoken 1/?
anonymous
August 12 2015, 11:39:52 UTC
There is no word for bittersweet in the Garog language.
And on days like this one, Grunt wonder why only humans have a way to describe what he feels.
==============================
Shepard was merciless as she went through the slavers. Biotics flaring, she ducked in behind cover as a barrage of rifle fire chased her. Coming up, she flung a lift field that swept three of them off their feet, then followed it with a throw that sent the rest of the squad flying.
Grunt was hard pressed to keep up with her, his shotgun cycling at maximum as she flipped and spun in a bewildering series of acrobatics.
He couldn't match her, had never been able to. Laughing wildly, long red hair streaming behind her, she stood atop a pile of defeated foes, her green eyes shining with merriment.
Grunt has never seen her equal.
=============================
With age comes wisdom, and with wisdom comes a new kind of lethality.
The team is larger now, Grunt has commented on this. He felt that the glory was lessened by the larger numbers of operatives Shepard has recruited.
Shepard, of course, had understood, but gave him her reasons. They were taking on larger missions, taking action on a galactic scale to stamp out piracy and slavery.
There were, of course, more frequent interactions with Kaidan, which Grunt supposed was good for Shepard. His Battlemistress seemed to rely on her companion more and more these days. He wondered if that was wise. General Alenko had more white than black in his hair these days, his once powerful frame had grown leaner as age took its toll. He was not the soldier he had once been.
Shepard too, it seemed, had suffered some of the same effects. The lustre was fading from her hair, the acrobatics of her youth now something she reserved for emergencies.
And yet there is no mistaking the quiet lethality in her movements when she chooses to strike. It is reassuring, that even when she chooses to maintain a little distance from the conflict, she is not any less of a warrior.
================
The grey in her hair is no sign of weakness, Grunt reminds himself as she calls down an airstrike on the enemy position. The distance between her and the frontline seems to increase another few hundred metres each year, but so did the scale. Now Shepard commands battalions, regiments, whole brigades.
The biotic force of her youth is not forgotten, though. Not when a group of rogue commandos surprise them in their command center and attempt an assassination.
In the furious firefight that followed, Shepard moved like the old times, striking like liquid metal. Pistol in one hand and omni-blade extended, she cut through the assassins with furious energy. It warmed Grunt's hearts to see her take down one commando with a pair of shots to her kneecaps, hurl another one out of the window with her biotics, boot one more into a live power conduit before spinning around to finish off the first one with a headshot.
Grunt pretends not to notice how heavily she breathes after the firefight is done, how she clutches at her heart, how she has a limp afterwards that wasn't there before.
The Words Unspoken 2/2
anonymous
August 12 2015, 12:18:14 UTC
The injuries she receives when her command vessel is shot down during the Third Battle of Horizon are enough to make further field command an impractical possibility. It angers Grunt, shames him that he could not protect her well enough in the firefight that followed the crash. That now she is reduced to hobbling about only with the assistance of a cane, that her left sleeve is pinned uselessly to the front of her uniform as she walks about the bridge of her new command vessel, issuing orders and directing the battles on the ground from up in the ether.
He tells himself that it is no different, that she is still the same warrior that once unsealed his tank and beat him into the deck. But he sees the shake in her one remaining hand, sees the humiliation in her eyes whenever she must order someone else to launch an attack in her stead.
Age, it would seem, is the one enemy that can defeat her.
=======================
The last of the red is gone from her hair when Alenko drifts off to his last sleep. Grunt sees her weeping quietly, even as she pulls on her dress uniform for the last time, to lay her lover to his final rest.
The funeral is a grand affair. A company of biotic soldiers provide the escort to his grave. Fighters do close fly overs whilst drums and bagpipes play a mournful dirge.
Grunt hates it. Hates it because he knows this is simply a preview of the future. Hates it because he knows Shepard is seeing a dress rehearsal of her own funeral.
==============================
Tali, Garrus, Vega all go to the next life before her. Eventually only Grunt, Wrex and Liara remain. When Shepard could no longer command, she taught. When she could no longer teach, she turned her hand to gardening.
"What?" Her faint smile was tender as she met Grunt's sceptical gaze. "It's a wonderful method of keeping your fingers active.
Her skin is lined and wrinkled, her hair is snowy white, her smile is not quite so carefree as it once was, but her eyes still sparkle and that is enough to make Grunt smile in return.
=======================
He watches her like a hawk, has her meals prepared just the way she likes them, becomes less a bodyguard and more a full time nursemaid. If any krogan thought less of him for it, they did not dare mention it to his face.
Shepard, Blood Sister to Urdnot Wrex, Hero of Tuchanka, Guardian of the Krogan Future. There was no nobler task than to care for her now.
Even gardening was beyond her now. But she still liked to be wheeled about in her chair or bed to enjoy the view. Grunt doesn't mind. Her speech is slow, and her mind sometimes wanders, but she still knows who he is. Indeed, he may be the only thing she is still sure about.
==================
"It's a little cold outside." Grunt answers her request doubtfully. "Are you sure you want to pick a flower?"
"Of course." Shepard slowly moves her hand to his. "Miranda is bringing May to visit, and I always pick a flower for my favourite goddaughter."
Well, Grunt can't resist Miranda's great-granddaughter anymore than Shepard can, so he agrees to take her outside.
Shepard chooses a white rose, smiling as he lifts it up for her to smell. "Ah, Grunt. You should have some children of your own soon."
"Plenty of time for that." Grunt shuffles his feet.
"Not as much as you think. Time flies, Grunt, even for a krogan. And it is the sweetest thing in the world to watch your child grow up."
"But you never had children, Shepard. How could you know?"
"Grunt." Shepard looked him in the eye, her smile faint. "You have been a son to me. You could not have been more so were you my own flesh and blood. No truer child could a prouder mother have."
"Shepard..." Grunt felt his hearts constrict painfully as her eyes closed. "Shepard...?"
It had taken Grunt a long time to understand the facial expressions of humans. He knew the expression on Shepard's face as she exhaled for the last time. Pure, peaceful content.
Bittersweet. The krogan had no word for it. Nor did krogan have tear glands. Never in his life had Grunt wished for anything more as he cradled the frail body of his mother in his arms.
And on days like this one, Grunt wonder why only humans have a way to describe what he feels.
==============================
Shepard was merciless as she went through the slavers. Biotics flaring, she ducked in behind cover as a barrage of rifle fire chased her. Coming up, she flung a lift field that swept three of them off their feet, then followed it with a throw that sent the rest of the squad flying.
Grunt was hard pressed to keep up with her, his shotgun cycling at maximum as she flipped and spun in a bewildering series of acrobatics.
He couldn't match her, had never been able to. Laughing wildly, long red hair streaming behind her, she stood atop a pile of defeated foes, her green eyes shining with merriment.
Grunt has never seen her equal.
=============================
With age comes wisdom, and with wisdom comes a new kind of lethality.
The team is larger now, Grunt has commented on this. He felt that the glory was lessened by the larger numbers of operatives Shepard has recruited.
Shepard, of course, had understood, but gave him her reasons. They were taking on larger missions, taking action on a galactic scale to stamp out piracy and slavery.
There were, of course, more frequent interactions with Kaidan, which Grunt supposed was good for Shepard. His Battlemistress seemed to rely on her companion more and more these days. He wondered if that was wise. General Alenko had more white than black in his hair these days, his once powerful frame had grown leaner as age took its toll. He was not the soldier he had once been.
Shepard too, it seemed, had suffered some of the same effects. The lustre was fading from her hair, the acrobatics of her youth now something she reserved for emergencies.
And yet there is no mistaking the quiet lethality in her movements when she chooses to strike. It is reassuring, that even when she chooses to maintain a little distance from the conflict, she is not any less of a warrior.
================
The grey in her hair is no sign of weakness, Grunt reminds himself as she calls down an airstrike on the enemy position. The distance between her and the frontline seems to increase another few hundred metres each year, but so did the scale. Now Shepard commands battalions, regiments, whole brigades.
The biotic force of her youth is not forgotten, though. Not when a group of rogue commandos surprise them in their command center and attempt an assassination.
In the furious firefight that followed, Shepard moved like the old times, striking like liquid metal. Pistol in one hand and omni-blade extended, she cut through the assassins with furious energy. It warmed Grunt's hearts to see her take down one commando with a pair of shots to her kneecaps, hurl another one out of the window with her biotics, boot one more into a live power conduit before spinning around to finish off the first one with a headshot.
Grunt pretends not to notice how heavily she breathes after the firefight is done, how she clutches at her heart, how she has a limp afterwards that wasn't there before.
=============================
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He tells himself that it is no different, that she is still the same warrior that once unsealed his tank and beat him into the deck. But he sees the shake in her one remaining hand, sees the humiliation in her eyes whenever she must order someone else to launch an attack in her stead.
Age, it would seem, is the one enemy that can defeat her.
=======================
The last of the red is gone from her hair when Alenko drifts off to his last sleep. Grunt sees her weeping quietly, even as she pulls on her dress uniform for the last time, to lay her lover to his final rest.
The funeral is a grand affair. A company of biotic soldiers provide the escort to his grave. Fighters do close fly overs whilst drums and bagpipes play a mournful dirge.
Grunt hates it. Hates it because he knows this is simply a preview of the future. Hates it because he knows Shepard is seeing a dress rehearsal of her own funeral.
==============================
Tali, Garrus, Vega all go to the next life before her. Eventually only Grunt, Wrex and Liara remain. When Shepard could no longer command, she taught. When she could no longer teach, she turned her hand to gardening.
"What?" Her faint smile was tender as she met Grunt's sceptical gaze. "It's a wonderful method of keeping your fingers active.
Her skin is lined and wrinkled, her hair is snowy white, her smile is not quite so carefree as it once was, but her eyes still sparkle and that is enough to make Grunt smile in return.
=======================
He watches her like a hawk, has her meals prepared just the way she likes them, becomes less a bodyguard and more a full time nursemaid. If any krogan thought less of him for it, they did not dare mention it to his face.
Shepard, Blood Sister to Urdnot Wrex, Hero of Tuchanka, Guardian of the Krogan Future. There was no nobler task than to care for her now.
Even gardening was beyond her now. But she still liked to be wheeled about in her chair or bed to enjoy the view. Grunt doesn't mind. Her speech is slow, and her mind sometimes wanders, but she still knows who he is. Indeed, he may be the only thing she is still sure about.
==================
"It's a little cold outside." Grunt answers her request doubtfully. "Are you sure you want to pick a flower?"
"Of course." Shepard slowly moves her hand to his. "Miranda is bringing May to visit, and I always pick a flower for my favourite goddaughter."
Well, Grunt can't resist Miranda's great-granddaughter anymore than Shepard can, so he agrees to take her outside.
Shepard chooses a white rose, smiling as he lifts it up for her to smell. "Ah, Grunt. You should have some children of your own soon."
"Plenty of time for that." Grunt shuffles his feet.
"Not as much as you think. Time flies, Grunt, even for a krogan. And it is the sweetest thing in the world to watch your child grow up."
"But you never had children, Shepard. How could you know?"
"Grunt." Shepard looked him in the eye, her smile faint. "You have been a son to me. You could not have been more so were you my own flesh and blood. No truer child could a prouder mother have."
"Shepard..." Grunt felt his hearts constrict painfully as her eyes closed. "Shepard...?"
It had taken Grunt a long time to understand the facial expressions of humans. He knew the expression on Shepard's face as she exhaled for the last time. Pure, peaceful content.
Bittersweet. The krogan had no word for it. Nor did krogan have tear glands. Never in his life had Grunt wished for anything more as he cradled the frail body of his mother in his arms.
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You took a character for whom I had no empathy and little interest, and just stuck a hand right into my guts and twisted until I understood him.
In about 1000 words.
As far as I am concerned, you have won the kink meme.
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