[Closed] Put more of the stuff in the thing more stuff goes in.
Who: Shepard, Garrus
What: Drinking. So much drinking.
When: Late Monday night or early Tuesday morning. Doesn't really matter.
Where: A bar somewhere in Residential Zone 03.
Warnings: Drunkeness.
Prowling through the abandoned neighborhoods of Zone 03 hadn't really put Garrus at ease. The familiar tread and routine of sweeping an area for hostiles did help settle his nerves a bit, gave him a sense of normalcy. He just couldn't get the image of his head. Himself, putting a pistol under his chin and blowing his own brains out. It was disturbing - but on the network. The video had kept rolling for a long, long time afterward. Recovering his gear from his own corpse had been even more disturbing.
Gave him the creeps. He didn't quite remember what had driven him to that edge. He remembered hallucinations of Shepard, of being told that Shepard - his Shepard - was a Cerberus plant. A clone. Something worse. And the worse part was that he'd believed it. He'd actually turned on his commander because his own diseased mind had told him to. >
>
That was what scared him more than anything else. He'd thought his faith in Shepard was unshakable. That he'd never turn against her, no matter what. She was his commander, the woman who had pulled him back up when he'd been at his lowest point. His mentor. His friend. Something more. It was a strange and disturbing thought.
>
He'd scouted out a few likely prospects for caches and safehouses and noted them down on his omnitool. Then he'd found the other thing he'd been looking for - a bar. The station had them scattered in the numerous entertainment districts, after all. And he had enough credits to run up one hell of a tab. He sent out a ping to Shepard - location and a short little text message - "Found one."
Then it was just a matter of waiting. There was alcohol he could drink, thankfully and he poured himself a tumbler. He waited, staring at the blue-green liquid.
When had life here gotten so complicated?
What: Drinking. So much drinking.
When: Late Monday night or early Tuesday morning. Doesn't really matter.
Where: A bar somewhere in Residential Zone 03.
Warnings: Drunkeness.
Prowling through the abandoned neighborhoods of Zone 03 hadn't really put Garrus at ease. The familiar tread and routine of sweeping an area for hostiles did help settle his nerves a bit, gave him a sense of normalcy. He just couldn't get the image of his head. Himself, putting a pistol under his chin and blowing his own brains out. It was disturbing - but on the network. The video had kept rolling for a long, long time afterward. Recovering his gear from his own corpse had been even more disturbing.
Gave him the creeps. He didn't quite remember what had driven him to that edge. He remembered hallucinations of Shepard, of being told that Shepard - his Shepard - was a Cerberus plant. A clone. Something worse. And the worse part was that he'd believed it. He'd actually turned on his commander because his own diseased mind had told him to. >
>
That was what scared him more than anything else. He'd thought his faith in Shepard was unshakable. That he'd never turn against her, no matter what. She was his commander, the woman who had pulled him back up when he'd been at his lowest point. His mentor. His friend. Something more. It was a strange and disturbing thought.
>
He'd scouted out a few likely prospects for caches and safehouses and noted them down on his omnitool. Then he'd found the other thing he'd been looking for - a bar. The station had them scattered in the numerous entertainment districts, after all. And he had enough credits to run up one hell of a tab. He sent out a ping to Shepard - location and a short little text message - "Found one."
Then it was just a matter of waiting. There was alcohol he could drink, thankfully and he poured himself a tumbler. He waited, staring at the blue-green liquid.
When had life here gotten so complicated?