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Entry tags:

OPEN

CHARACTERS: Shepard & YOU
LOCATION: Various
WARNINGS: N/A, will edit if necessary
SUMMARY: Catch all for pre-recon
NOTES: Feel free to wildcard the starter or contact me for something else if you're not feeling any of the ones I have up! Prose or action aokay.

I. DECK 023 REC ROOM

[The rec room farthest to stern on 23 has slowly been rigged into a hub for these recon missions, couches and low tables pushed around into a semblance of order and and video screen son the wall mainly re-purposed for going over and archiving data. She and a few unlucky volunteers have most categorized everything workable from the last recon, but she's clearly expecting more work in the future and has pinned down the space for the foreseeable future.

Anyone who isn't a volunteer for recon is likely to be on the receiving end of a steady, sidelong look and a pointed 'Looking for something?' There's something honed down and steely about her that mostly does a serviceable job of chasing anyone not totally determined out. For anyone part of the mission or looking to speak to Shepard in person, her kitbashed war room is the safe first bet as she can usually be found there sitting on one of the couches, one leg tucked up under herself, absently worrying her teeth against the inside of her cheek as she carefully sorts through reports and messages from various sources.

They're leaving on round two soon and there's still a lot of crap to get sorted.]

II. GYM

[Not holding the fort down in the rec-room-turned-war-room? Better check the nearest gym. Call her single minded, but there's something pleasant about the work: if not paper work, then running herself ragged (literally) as she jogs carefully timed, deliberate laps around the outside of the large room. Most of it's just practice: moving through form and technique with a certain level of aptitude brought along by years of practice, though she'll jump at the chance should a sparring partner show their face.

She'd give her right hand to be spending more time in gunnery but with limited ammunition, she's not going to burn through her reserve on target practice. This though? She can run her body pretty hard when she wants to.]

III. WASHROOM

[Freshly showered, dressed in an undershirt and jumpsuit with the arms of the latter tied around her waist, she's standing in front of one of the many sinks in the communal washroom and patiently wringing her hair out over the sink. It must be off hours; there's no one else in the bathroom and it's... quiet. Bone deep. Residual warmth from the steam of the shower trapped by the seal of the door clings to the faucets and the edge of the mirrors, her skin. Her hair's gotten long, she thinks somewhat suddenly an frowns at the dark, uneven ends in her fist. She needs a haircut. Thinks maybe she should just hack it all off.

And for a moment, Shepard straightens - lets the towel in her other hand sag around her shoulders - to regard herself in the mirror. She thinks she looks strange with her hair down as it is. Carefully drawing it up, N7 dogtags clinking around her neck, she squints at her reflection and tries to imagine what it'd look like cut short.

The moment the hatch yawns open to admit another passenger, she makes to snap her hands down.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[There's something so familiar about the telekinetic buffer that she doesn't even recognize it until she's steady again on the flats of her boots. She's bristling as he bows, barely recognizing the gesture.]

You're a biotic?

[There's no keeping the interrogative edge out of her voice, though maybe that's just the shortness of breath as she sucks down air, sweat thick on her brow and chest.]

A...what?

[He straightens and shakes his head. His brows are furrowed.]

I - Forgive me. I'm not familiar with that term.

[But it's not as though he doesn't know what she's referring to. That power which he for so long tried to keep a secret - which too many know of now, which hasn't helped him for anything, which has proved useless for helping anyone, for saving anyone...What else is there to comment on?

He doesn't want to comment on it at all. He tries to change the subject.]

I hope I have not done you harm, ma'am, and sincerely regret my recklessness.

I'm fine. [Tossed back out of the side of her mouth. It's a minor speed bump between her and the things she wants. Meaning sorry Edgeworth, she's not letting go that easily.]

So it's, what, magic then?

[Progress, right? Ten cycles and she's not calling it 'bullshit' anymore.]

No.

[Discombobulated or not, uncomfortable or not, anxious or not, trying desperately to flee this topic of conversation or not, Edgeworth will always have the energy to frown over the word magic.]

It's an ability that was given to me. Not magical in nature. Scientifically explainable.

[And then he hesitates. That should be the end of the conversation - he knows this is Shepard, and knows her short temper and fantastic impatience and knows that he can most likely count on her to drop anything that uses up too much of her time. And yet - ]

What are...biotics?

[He doesn't understand his power, and he wants to.]

Exactly what you said - explainable, naturally occurring. [Well--] Mostly. You're human, right?

[Shepard you can't just ask if people are human.]

Yes.

[He says that quickly, emphatically. All reticence is abandoned in that moment, all timidity and remorse: he is fierce in declaring his humanity.

He just has a lot of feelings.]

[Okay calm down, Edgeworth or someone might mentally slot you in with other Humanity First! weirdos. Only she's not really thinking about that as she impatiently wipes sweat from her temple and shoves fallen strands of hair back from her face. Priorities.]

It's a mutation in humans. What d'you mean when you say it was 'given' to you? I didn't even know there was eezo in this system to be exposed to.

I - do not know what eezo is.

[But of course he doesn't; him even saying that is pointless. She already knows that. So he just shakes his head and moves on.]

There was someone with the ability to transfer abilities to others aboard the ship at one point. He transferred this capacity to me.

[She straightens, squaring the line of her shoulders - sets her hands on her hips and settles her weight into her heels.]

Oh. [There's something thin like disappointment in how she says it. She shoots a glance past him to the punching bag.] Well. Good.

[No more punching manticores.]

[And he looks at her, his brows drawing together. Her change in demeanor seems - strange to him. Why would she even have any reaction to that?]

Is there something wrong with that?

No. The fact that you can defend yourself is a good thing. [Without missing a beat, because keeping the conversation running at break neck speed seems to be the key to keeping him talking into of digging his heels in:] How long've you had your abilities?

[It's not a bad assessment: he clears his throat and responds to the question, whereas if he'd had more time to consider it he might answer with a none of your business or something else equally rude. He's quite good at being rude when he has the time to think about it; give him less time, and he's frequently much milder.]

A...year and a half.

[But he does try to fire back with his own questions:]

If I can ask - You seemed...disappointed by my answer. Why?

[She wrinkles her nose, a faint flicker of irritation - and while it's with herself, there's no real discerning that factoid.]

It sounded like something from where I'm from for a second there. [Homesickness? Bullshit. More like trying to find a few common denominators, she thinks.]

But it's not the same. No biotic without an implant can learn how to control it in a year and a half.

Oh.

[He looks down, he himself disappointed. Not for the loss of the common factor - he knows well enough that his world and hers are unrelated; the whole first year here he spent trying to figure out what linked everyone, and the answer wouldn't be revealed by something like that. No: for a brief moment, he'd hoped that perhaps she would know something about this ability of his. Have some useful information. Because Tyke is enough to train it, but she doesn't help him really understand it.

It's clear that Shepard is not interested in talking any longer; it's clear he's proved useless to her. That's obvious from the expression on her face - the irritation, the unfriendliness. He ought to simply go on his way and not bother with her any longer. Still, instead of doing that, he asks, awkwardly - ]

How do they learn to control it?

Slowly. [She's not a biotic - she knows the theory, not the practice and even then the details are thin. Why she even bothers-- she doesn't honestly know. But one second she'd seriously considering a heel turn and falling back into pace around the perimeter of the gym and the next she's... not.]

It's tied to the nervous system, so a biotic has to learn to manipulate that to control how they generate mass effect fields. Human biotics are fitted with a neural amp to direct the energy and make the fields more stable and useful.

[A beat. In layman's terms:]

They put a chip in their brain.

[A chip. He can't disguise his reaction to that - a flinch, a grimace. He looks away from her and tries to sound casual.]

Well. I don't think that's a tenable solution here.

[And then he realizes a moment later than he just admitted - admitted to this woman, who already dislikes Security, who would no doubt utilize information like this to undermine them - that he's having trouble with his ability. He looks back at her all at once, alarm written on his face; he takes a step back and stammers - ]

Not that - it's - needed.

[Which, maybe entirely predictably, prompts something of an eye narrowing, a slight incline of the head not unlike being on the receiving end of some large bird of prey spotting something interesting.

Shepard rocks back on her heels, heart rate rapidly falling the longer she stands.]

I don't blame you. The prototype chips are hit or miss. [A beat, then:] It sounds like there are plenty of people on the ship with similar abilities.

[The inherent, obvious question being: so why aren't they training him?]

[His expression - alarmed, unhappy - fades gradually into something more simply confused. There's no attempt to leap upon that information. Her expression is hardly trustworthy (she looks nearly predatory) but her words are simply...helpful. At best, Edgeworth had thought she'd brush his problems aside out of disinterest; at worst, he had thought she would seek to use them. But instead - ]

No. Not like mine. Not exactly. No one I'd -

[Trust is the last word there, but he cuts it off with a shake of his head. Instead, he asks, a little tentatively:]

You do not have any such powers? These biotics?

[The answer comes naturally, like it's a question she's answered multiple times before.]

Low level, but nothing I've developed and I don't have an implant. I can't use them at all.

[A beat. A slight frown.]

You're on Sec, so I'm guessing you already know to steer clear of Xavier.

[She's heard less than stellar things.]

[And that gets her a look of considerable surprise - but not shock, and not confusion. There's no suspicion, no horror at the implication of a man he previously thought innocent - no. There's just startlement that she would bring that up.]

I thought - you were allied with that department. I thought they supported your missions and the like.

[If he was wrong about that - Well. If he was wrong about that assumption, then he will be...deeply embarrassed. Much of his hostility, he has to confess, sprang from mistrust over her perceived associations.]

I'm allied with people, not a department. [Her tone is clipped, briefly irritated, though quickly smooths back over. She's been running and has officially sweat too much to put that much energy into being argumentative.]

If anyone from 'Xenobiology' [--complete with airquotes; they've apparently come back in a big way in the future--] wants to work with me, I'm not going to say no because as far as I've heard, we aren't exactly overflowing with resources here.

[He thinks about that a moment, searching her face for the truth of that statement. Shepard - Well. No matter her faults - and there is no doubt that they exist in no small number - does not seem much of a liar. She seems to have little to no time for untruths.

So Edgeworth bows again.]

I would like to beg forgiveness for my earlier rudeness towards you on the network. I think I had...mistaken your allegiances and intentions.

[The bow prompts her to take a slight step backward; it's not something she's used to being on the receiving end of and twice in as many minutes is odd (sometimes asari bow to one another, but it's not a courtesy reserved for humans - generally an incline of the head is considered enough of a compliment to count). But his apology--

It wins him a few point.]

Don't let it happen again.

[Too bad Shepard wouldn't know how to gracefully forgive someone if her life depended on it. At least there's no venom in her tone.]

[That's not an ideal sort of acceptance of his apology; the rudeness of it does prod at his temper, and for a moment he wavers on the border of being offended - but no; no. He tamps that down. He's apologizing, and it's not his place to bristle just because she's not as generous as he would like in accepting his words. And he indulges his temper far too much as it is.

So he takes a breath, calms himself. Straightens up and looks at her.]

It's not just Xavier you can't trust, either. Snape is - [He hesitates a moment, trying to find the right wording. Finally:]

He is dangerous.

Along with half the passengers on the ship. [That's cut and dry, tone distinctly clipped. No nonsense. She likes Snape and it's going to take more than a vague warning to change her mind.]

If it weren't for Snape, we'd have been out of contact last cycle from day two.

Edited (whoops space vocab) 2014-06-22 18:02 (UTC)

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