[Something behind Shepard's jaw feels hot and tight, like a stripped screw, a coil about to overheat. She reaches up to rub at the base of her skull, where the implant port had once been. Behind her, the elevator door stands, impassive, grey-blue alloy, calm lights. Where her cabin ought to be is... a room. It's not shabby, but it's got an air of habitual neglect, papered over with one person's dedication and forethought, like a mended shirt. There was love in it.
But this definitely wasn't the Normandy. And it wasn't this place either. shepard recalled her earlier conversation with Crowley, and how much more likely this was to Hell than anything else.]
...This is your place, then? [She has to grit to keep the fight out of her tone, looking left, and right again. The door seems incongruously wide in the space, but then it's far from Earth-standard.] Seems...nice. Quiet.
[Out of place. But she'll remember it. For later.]
Got any ideas?
[Because hers all involve trying every door and window she can find, whether it spits them out into space or not.]
no subject
But this definitely wasn't the Normandy. And it wasn't this place either. shepard recalled her earlier conversation with Crowley, and how much more likely this was to Hell than anything else.]
...This is your place, then? [She has to grit to keep the fight out of her tone, looking left, and right again. The door seems incongruously wide in the space, but then it's far from Earth-standard.] Seems...nice. Quiet.
[Out of place. But she'll remember it. For later.]
Got any ideas?
[Because hers all involve trying every door and window she can find, whether it spits them out into space or not.]