angryhearts | you want to hear it? well

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mo dao zu shi: wei wuxian

you want to hear it? well —

ONLY, MY SECRET'S MINE, AND I WON'T TELL

The garden may no longer be available upon return to the hotel, but there is still a bustle of energy. How fortunate all the Oysters are, to reside in such a renowned place! It's a great honor for those in Wonderland to be granted opportunity to teach their skills or ply their trade here, and the Queen permits only the best. Hotel staff themselves seem to delight in the presence of the traveling merchants. Many trade teas or favors for enchanted items, and will eagerly discuss their purchases. "Oh, it happens regularly enough," they will say if asked, "but you never know if the merchant you liked or the item you eyed will be back next time!"

The talk lingers after the guest instructors and merchants have departed, but it isn't the only thing left behind. Glimmers of green may catch your eye, tucked away in hidden places that seem almost impossible to reach without drawing attention to yourself. Those who manage it will find a scrap of heavy paper with a drawing of a stylized caterpillar, a series of numbers, and the words call a friend.

Are you curious enough to input the numbers into your Empathy? It will ring, if you do, until an answering machine picks up and asks a single question — How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail? Do you dare leave a message? What will it be? Whatever you decide, the call will disconnect after a few minutes. It seems the only thing you can do now is wait for a call back.

But of course, the hotel is not in the habit of allowing such a thing as idle waiting. Her Royal Highness has noticed that some of her beloved Oysters seem quite reluctant to partake of the many splendors that the hotel provides, and she will be offering a special treat — indulgence.

QUEEN'S GAMES
8/12 - 8/22

What's more fun to indulge in than a little healthy competition? It's time for the Queen's Games, a truly dazzling spectacle. Competitors come from all over Wonderland, and this year for the first time ever, Oysters are invited to join! Announcements for the games schedule will be posted all throughout the hotel, along with directions on how to register to join.

The games will be held in either the pool area or the gym, which seems to have expanded to accommodate the number of spectators. Available games include:

archery
chess
croquet
artistic swimming
diving
gymnastics
flamingo flying
ice skating
ice sculptures

Of course, even the games that Oysters are familiar with may not be quite the same. Chess in Wonderland is a team sport, for example, with each member of the team filling a role as a chess piece and a coach as a strategist directing the plays. Attempting to capture one of the other team's pieces includes having to successfully win a fight against them. Gymnastics and diving competitors include growing and shrinking in size to their routines, ice sculptures come to life when they've been completed, artistic swimmers and ice skaters change costumes and swap partners in the blink of an eye.

If they're lucky, Oysters may find one of the competitors willing to show them the ropes. If they're even luckier, or more persistent, there may be a spot or two open on one of the teams that Oysters can slot themselves into. For the most part, team members will be delighted to have Oysters there.

"You all just feel so much," one may say, sounding a little awed.

"Show off those emotions, it'll get us points," another will add.

Although competitors are friendly, with Osyters and with each other, it's clear that most of them are here to win. Rivalries may flare up throughout the month, ex-lovers may be reunited and broken up again, infighting may spark among the teams — all things that can be soothed or exacerbated, for Oysters who may have inclinations towards utilizing such things to increase their chances of winning.

Or to fan the flames of drama for its own sake.

THE CALL
8/16

Starting in the early morning hours and continuing late into the night, any who left a message will get a call back.

Those who completed the poem will be greeted immediately by a friendly male voice, with an apology for the delay. "Ugh, our lines are backed up like crazy," the caller will say. "Where are you reporting in from?"

Those who somehow identified themselves as an Oyster, as residing in the hotel, from off world, being held by the Queen, or otherwise potentially against the Queen, will have their call returned by a cold female voice, guarded and wary.

"Show me your Oyster mark," the caller will request. "We can't risk giving you anything without proof."

Regardless of which caller contacts them, anyone who cooperates will receive similar information.

The friendly caller will readily provide assurances that the resistance base was not found, despite Mad March and the Order's attempt at reconnaissance in the old kingdom.

"Can't say much more than that over these channels, you know, but worry not! Everyone is safe. We have a follow up from the last mission — sorry about the air conditioning, you know, couldn't be helped — you ready for this? Keycodes. Access keycodes. Didn't get more than a handful, of course, and the intel is vague about what they access. Are we glad to get your call! How about it, you ready to try one out and see what information you can get?"

The guarded caller will allude to the Order not being able to find what they wanted out in the ruins.

"Did you think they took you out there to show you the sights? They're looking for us, obviously. No I'm not going to tell you more than that — just because you're an Oyster doesn't mean we can completely trust you. All right, look. Last time we broke into the hotel, we recovered a few access codes. We had to get out of there before we could find out what they accessed. How about a trade? We give you the code, you call us back and tell us what you find."

INDULGENCE
8/13 - 8/23

Throughout the event, there will be a number of activities available alongside the games designed to encourage unwinding. A concert set up in the hotel lobby will kick off the start of the games, at which indulgence teas will be made available for the first time. They will continue to be served readily at all hours of the day. Enhanced spa facilities will be made available as well — dazzling pedicures and manicures with nail polish that can do anything from change colors based on your mood to emit light so bright it can function as a flashlight; makeup that gives you a kiss that will literally stun the recipient; aromatherapy that will cure any kind of hangover; oils that double as aphrodisiacs, for those interested; healing massages that will take away your aches and pains, wiping away any bruises or injuries with no questions asked. A clean slate, ready to indulge again.

Then, of course, there are the less official activities. Whispers will begin to spread about another kind of competition being run after hours, when all good competitors should be sleeping. No one quite knows who's running it — one person heard it was the coach of one of the chess teams, eager to get her players extra practice; another heard it was one of the chess players themselves; still another will say it is an ice skater, a flamingo pilot, a gymnast. After all, it hardly matters, does it, as long as it runs, and there is a fight every night? Oysters are welcomed into this competition as well, where the only rule is not to kill your opponent. Teas of all kinds exchange hands as bets are placed on the fights, and the champion is rumored to receive a truly spectacular prize.

If fighting is not to your speed, fear not. All of the competitors seem to have different ways to unwind after the games are completed for the day, and all are happy to allow Oysters to indulge in attending the various get-togethers and parties they host. The knight on one of the chess teams has the most renowned wine collection, and he's brought some of his finest with him to be enjoyed alongside cheeses and poetry. One of the swimmers is a passionate musician, and has recruited anyone who can play an instrument to discuss musical theory and play together. A croquet player is known for hosting the wildest parties, with free-flowing moonshine and sips of ecstacy tea readily available. There is a flamingo pilot with a book club, an archer who is a fabulous chef, a diver who is a skilled debater with a wicked tongue — whatever you like to indulge in, chances are, someone's throwing a party for it.

The games will end on the 23rd, with a roaring celebration of all who participated in the competition. The pool area will be taken over for the farewell party, with music, food, alcohol, and dancing available. It is here that the winners of the competitions will be announced, and prizes will be awarded.

If you have any questions, please leave them over here! Results for the access code sign ups and the distractions will go out on the 14th, so players have until then to sign up. Characters can use the keycodes to access areas and cause distractions from the 16th through the 23rd — and beyond, but after the final party they may no longer have an easy excuse. If you wish to have your character compete in one of the competitions for the prizes, you can sign up here! Winners will be RNGed.

PREMISE RULES FAQ TAKEN RESERVES APPLICATION MOD CONTACT HIATUS & DROPS WORLD INFO NPCS CALENDAR AC REWARDS PLAYER CONTACT

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's hard to adjust to fighting like this, when nearly every tool he'd once had at his disposal is conspicuously missing. Even when he was using demonic cultivation, he still had minor spells and talismans he could use. He could hardly be blamed for taking a few hits!

He steps out of the way as Shepard takes the man down quickly, and viciously. Wei Wuxian might not always play by the rules or spar properly, even in a fair fight, but this is completely different from any of the scrapes he's been in before.

"They're open, they're open!" he laughs, not sure what to make of Shepard's fighting stance. Well, she seems able to use it effectively, he supposes, though it's definitely unorthodox. His own steps are light, now that he's on his feet, and he seems to dodge far more than he attacks, content to wait for openings as they come.

"Where did you learn that?" he asks, ducking a punch meant for his face.

Shepard takes a strike on her block, and retaliates one-two with quick rabbit-punches that daze the chess player who, honestly, ought to have known better. Hadn't she fought him on the board, yesterday? Well, fought was being generous, but then maybe he was looking for another shot. She snapped a hook into his cheekbone and he went down like a sack of wet sand; so much for justice.

"Alliance standard hand-to-hand training," She replied, shortly, daring to take her eyes off the crowd to shoot him a smirk, "...And a lot of experience. You should see me in a real fight!"

It's a lot less gentle, for one. And a lot faster; when your only goal is to kill or get past your opponent, there's no call for subtleties or hesitation. Then too, in a real fight, a deadly fight, she wouldn't be restricted only to fists.

"I'm a vanguard. First in, last out," this last word punctuated by the grunt of effort that came with dropping out of guard, snatching up another of the hopefuls that thought to take her on, and bodily levering over one shoulder onto the ground where he then lay, winded and whining, "This is just sad, though."

It's fascinating to watch her fight, he thinks, the style definitely unique and clearly effective, but it's hard to take his eyes from the rest of the crowd without risking another gutsy brawler trying to tackle him to the floor. Still, he makes note of the names; Alliance standard, vanguard, and saves his questions for later.

"I hope I never have to see you in a real fight," he laughs. The first time he'd met her, she'd been quick to suggest shivving as a stealth tactic, and seeing her now, he was even more certain she'd meant it.

Keeping Shepard at his back means less dodging, but it also means there might as well be a wall behind him. He crouches under a swinging arm and lands a solid palmstrike to another fighter's torso, sending him flying back into a few others. Not bad, that tea, he thinks, though he might want to dial it back a little.

"Lots of numbers," he agrees, "much less actual skill, oop-"

He catches a fist, using the other's momentum to lead them out of his way, then follows with a kick to their rear as they pass him. His fighting style definitely borders on playful, rather than efficient, though it's obvious he's having no less fun.

"There've been worse workouts," she laughs. He's like the joke of a kung-fu vid made reality, she could swear, "What about you? They pick you up off the docks, shove you into cultivator school young, or did you have to bullshit your way in on good looks?"

What? She can remember an origin story, when it's fed to her. Particularly when there's room to breathe as someone makes a lunge, then checks their progress when they see just who they're lunging for. Shepard spreads her arms, both a sarcastic boast and open invitation, and the woman takes it for the insult it is and resumes her charge. Shepard steps aside and casually rebounds her elbow from their face with a force that bounces the woman bodily back into the embrace of her fellows, who immediately drag her back into the fray.

"Used to be I could get this finished in five seconds. I miss biotics."

While he's pretty confident in his looks, most of his past flirtation has been met with little result, so hearing it so often, even teasingly, from Shepard, does terrible things to his ego. He clicks his tongue in a false show of irritation, preening just a tiny bit.

"Not just anyone has the potential to form a golden core and cultivate," he shakes his head, delivering a kick that flung one of his opponents into a handful of others.

"I know it's hard to believe that good looks and raw talent can co-exist," another kick, this time with a hint of laughter, "I was adopted into the Jiang clan of Yunmeng, so I studied with them first."

The foundation of his martial education was formed there, including his mastery of the six arts, and from there, it was important to round out his education by studying with the other sects, even sects as stuffy as Gusu Lan. Still, he could understand the sentiment. At his peak, he'd stood on equal ground with the legendary Hanguang Jun, and subduing a crowd of such mundane fighters like this was as easy as breathing. Here, he was just trying not to hurt anyone too badly as he tested out his strength tea.

"Biotics are a special ability from your world, then?" he asks? If it made her already brutally efficient style any more so, it had to be pretty impressive.

"Tell you what, let's clear this out, and then we'll go for drinks," Shepard tells him, as she clears a few bodies from her own proximity, matching him target-for-target without any real effort apparent, "I'll trade you stories."

She waits for the nod and then, it's down to simple focus. Given a goal in mind, Shepard stops making it a game, or a conversation, or anything except a series of moving targets and a pressing cause to move on. She doesn't need biotics to fight, indeed had often been pressed to put them aside for the safety of others. No sense winning a fight that put a hole in the hull, after all, nor in flinging your enemies around if the blast killed your own team with them.

But there's no need for subtleties here: She moves into the thick of it like wading into the ocean, and the few remaining fighters put up about as much resistance to her onslaught as would water, and then—

And then... the Order shows up.

"Ah, fuck," Shepard snarls, and turns towards Wei Wuxian with only a backwards glance for the aftermath. She would have liked to make it a clean sweep, and here we are, masses of groaning witnesses and the cops show up, "Let's go!"

It's exactly the sort of incentive Wei Wuxian needs. He can't think of a better way to break in a friendship than over a few drinks and swapping stories. And Shepard is sure to have some good ones.

"Oh, I knew I liked you," he laughs, throwing a punch once one of the fighters gets within his range. There's fewer and fewer willing to come up against them, and once Wei Wuxian catches sight of the uniformly suited people working for the queen, he knows exactly why. He makes a startled noise, not wishing for a repeat of his last encounter with them, and chases after Shepard for all he's worth.

It's a mad dash through the hallways, and there's always this weird sense of misplacement in the hotel. The basement byways that had been used to find the hidden Fight Club had no more personality nor distinction than the more approved spaces above, though they were less opulent, and bursting into the public area was like stepping through a portal into another world. Everything was abruptly normal again, all the ordinary bustle and noise of people, muffled by carpet and baffle-walls, but present all the same. Shepard glanced in one direction, first instinct to simply keep running, and then, very deliberately, straightened.

"We've been here for an hour," She told the bartender, after a carefully casual walk, and when he gave her an odd look Shepard slid a thin vial across to him, full of amber liquid. Eyes widened and he turned to the sink so that by the time Wei Wuxian had joined her, there were already twin collections of used shot-glasses and a fresh finger of whisky in Shepard's hand, "To your health."

To your ongoing good luck, sir.

He's never more than a few lengths behind, chasing Shepard up from the basement and into the bar. His playful smile doesn't leave his lips, even as he huffs for breath, trying to steady his heartbeats, so he can blame the flush in his cheeks on alcohol and a night of laughter with a friend.

Wei Wuxian is still chuckling softly as he motions for a glass and joins her.

"Cheers," he nods, and raises his cup once it arrives. The drinking customs here are certainly different, he's noticed, and most of the cups too large to drain in one go, though it rarely stops him from making a concerted effort that usually ends with a fair amount dribbling down his chin. He doesn't have his usual sleeves, so the back of his hand has to do for wiping away the excess.

"So," he huffs a breath, "where were we? Bio... Biotics?"

"Biotics," She corrects him, merging the first syllables into one slurring sound, and emphasizing the last, "It's both a special ability and a kind of person. You have to be born with it. And then you have to be lucky enough that it doesn't kill you as a child. Or as adult, come to think of it."

Which, even the cancer didn't get you, it often would. Biotic development in humans was a rocky, unpleasant road.

"Me, I mean. I'm a Biotic. Comes with a lot of side effects, and a few good perks."

"Biotics," he repeats, not altogether smoothly. It's definitely one of those foreign words that doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, but he tries to catalog it anyway, along with the other vocabulary Shepard has given him. Bio-this, bio-that. He wondered if it was anything like being born with the ability to cultivate a golden core. Similar, was his guess, at least. Maybe it's like the difference between a Cultivator and the act of Cultivation? Only, more lethal, it sounds like.

"What kind of perks?" he asks honestly. Really, they must be pretty good if people are willing to kill children just for the chance of having it. He takes another draw from his cup, and this time most of it makes it into his mouth this time.

"You're like a child, c'mon," the bartender plops down her refill at the opportune moment and Shepard seizes upon the opportunity fate has offered her, thuslywise; "Don't just gulp, you're not doing shots here. Like this."

Shepard tosses back the drink in three long, uninterrupted swallows, slow and golden and well-practiced. She shakes her head to clear the buzz with a low, appreciative woargh. And then slams the empty glass onto the counter. Done.

"You don't gain weight, no matter what you eat. And you can kill your enemies faster than almost anything else. Nobody's scarier than a pissed-off Biotic, tactically speaking."

Edited 2020-09-07 01:13 (UTC)

It wasn't the first time he'd been compared to a child and it wouldn't be the last. His parents had been apt in his given name, well, that or he'd chosen to live up to it. Either way. He makes a sufficiently impressed sound as she drains her cup, chuckling at the one she makes as she sets her cup down.

"Fine, fine, fine," he sighs resignedly.

He's been drinking... fairly heavily since his early teens, and can drain his wine without so much as a flinch, but the alcohol served here is very different, some stronger, some weaker, some with exciting flavors and some that make him wrinkle his nose. Never one to turn down a challenge, he takes his time, draining his cup and then sets it down in return, with only a couple wheezy coughs to show for it.

The buzz takes its time, but he can already feel his insides warming up, starting in his stomach and prickling over his skin, giving him what will soon be a rosy complexion.

"Satisfied?" he asks, and yes, he did dribble a little out the side of his mouth, but it's a negligible few drops, best effort so far.

Wei Wuxian waves for another, never liking the look of an empty glass, and takes the time to think on what this Biotic thing means. It doesn't seem all that different from Wen Ning's condition, really. Faster, deadlier, scarier than anyone he'd been set against, an ideal warrior, though the cost to become it was far more than anyone should have to pay.

"Is it hard to control that?" he asks, genuinely interested.

"We'll work on it," Shepard is willing to acknowledge his efforts. Mostly she acknowledges them as as sub-par, but... her standards are what they are, and she makes no apology.

"Ah...Yeah, it can be tough," Hard to control. That was a sticky one. Shepard thought for a minute, how to put it, "Let me put it this way, I don't know a human biotic who's never killed anyone. And it's easy to accidentally turn somebody in paste, if you don't know what you're doing, or if you don't have the right kind of help."

Shepard lapses into thought again, running her finger around the rim of the glass; once, twice, and again.

"...Actually, it's easy to cause destruction period, accident or otherwise. I've got a friend who's taken whole stations right out of the sky, in a fit of rage. Oh—" Right, he wouldn't have context for that, "—Like a town. Or maybe a little smaller. I don't know, how many people does it take to make something a city, to you?"

About what he thought. Seemed there were some constants no matter what world you were part of; the more powerful one became the harder that power was to control, and the more dire the consequences if control was lost. It was no wonder Shepard fought so ruthlessly and efficiently, even against such a large group. Wei Wuxian's experience was less up close and personal with those he was fighting, simply by virtue of his deviant path of cultivation. He couldn't wield a sword the same way as he once did, so his fighting style had to change.

"Remind me to stay on your good side," he nodded along, trying not to mentally stumble at the idea of an entire city, let along multiple cities in the sky. The more he heard about Shepard's world, the more convinced he became it was real; what started as fantasy, there was just no way to hold onto so many small details and bits of knowledge and keep it all straight if it were a lie.

"Ah... it sort of depends. Anywhere from a few hundred to several thousand, I guess?" he was pretty sure it had more to do with the ruling entity and what they decided to call it, be it kingdom, city, town, or village. Who kept track of that sort of thing?

"Why? How many people fit in your sky stations?"

"Space Station," Shepard corrects, automatically, "And, it depends on the station. Citadel had to have about ten million people, and Arcturus used to get about fifty-thousand on a busy day, but uh... Purgatory was a prison-outfit..."

Well, technically it had been about human trafficking, but then what else would you call a for-profit independent prison? Shit, she wasn't about to mourn the place. Even if they'd only been trying to do their damn jobs, they weren't more than two-chit slavers and she hadn't the time for them, not alive or dead.

"...Had to be three or four thousand, at least. But I wasn't exactly sad to see 'em go, given that they were trying to collar or kill me at the time."

"Sky, Space, what's the difference?" he shakes his head. It was all the same vast unknown, wasn't that just being picky? He's not too concerned, at least, not while trying to fathom a city large enough to house ten million. If they were fighting, it might be some division of soldiers, but if it was a city, wouldn't that be an awful lot of civilians too? And a prison? Maybe that was a conversation for another time, when they weren't trying to skirt the authorities here.

"I hope you realize, I'm going to absolutely bombard you with questions about that later," he says truthfully. For the moment though, he doesn't want to get too far off track.

"But first I wanna know more about Biotics" the word rolls of his tongue a little easier the second time, "you have to be born one, but is it like... hm. Is there a process? What sort of spell do they use? Or is it more like alchemy?"

"About what," Shepard wonders, but it's clear the question is rhetorical when he just bulls forward, "What am I, Avina?"

Still, being a mobile information VI is still better than drinking alone. Maybe some parts of the Shore Leave Marathon were starting to get to her, after all. Yes, and she'll take a fresh drink to go with it that existential disgruntlement, bartender, thank you.

"I don't know anything about spells or alchemy or whatever. I just... do it. It's..." She makes a abrupt, almost frustrated motion, as if trying to skip an invisible stone across an unseen pond, and then subsides. How to explain what it felt like from the inside, when the gravity surged in your blood, and you felt your own tidal force warping the world around you? It was intense, and it was invisible, "I'm not a doctor, but. What I was told was, the electrical impulses in your brain power the eezo-compatible mutations, at your nerve-endings. So that generates a mass effect field, and the shape and use of it depends on how you manipulate the field, but in practice, it's just a lot of work. It takes years to master, the closest thing to a shortcut is the mnemonic method and it's not like it's a time saver so much as just efficient lesson plan."

She stop for a minute, thinking. No, that all sounded right. Oh no, wait. She'd nearly forgotten:

"...And, you'd need an implant."

"If Avina knows all about Space Stations, then yes," he returns. He wonders how on earth there can be so many words for things he doesn't know, but that's just a little bit of the difference between their world. Shepard has shown she's just as clueless about demonic cultivation as he is about space.

Talking to Shepard though, often felt like deciphering old texts. Constantly referring to other notes he had and trying to piece the meanings together coherently. Electricity, that was a sort of power, he recalled, but he didn't realize it was also something running through a person. Probably like qi, he figures. Just like how he used qi to create threads or nets or other spells, so too could Shepard use hers to create a mass effect field, whatever that was.

Maybe this biotic power wasn't really so different from having a golden core? It takes years to master and control, and works with one's qi to power their spells, heal, use weapons, or fight. And it could be implanted?

"That makes a surprising amount of sense," he admits, taking a slow sip for the first time since their arrival.

"I think I understand it, more or less. Except the implant, I suppose. How does that work? You need one to control the ah... mass effect field?"

"Just to boost control output. It's a little metal thing, goes in right here," Shepard tilts her head to the side and taps the indicated spot, just at the soft point hear the base of her skull, "Brain implant."

Yes, Wei Wuxian, Shepard let them put something physically inside her brain.

"They hardly ever kill people, anymore."

Wei Wuxian wears his emotions readily, on his face. And while there's usually a smile, it's just as easy to see things like worry, curiosity, or distaste. The one he wears now is a little of all three.

It does make sense, he thinks, depending on the metal that was used. What sort of spells it was reinforced with. He'd even theorized such things in his research, when he was helping Wen Ning. Just like Wen Qing's proficiency with needles, when applied correctly, he was sure such an implant could have both devastating and beneficial results, but he'd just... never followed up on it. Wen Ning had recovered enough of his spirit to be in control, he'd thought there was little need. There were a number of meridians bundled at the base of the skull, at any rate, and if they were messing with those, sending things into her head, hmm.

"A~ah," he sighs, taking another sip, "I wish I could see the research that went into them. I was studying something like that before ah- before I died."

He raises a hand, expression tipping further toward curious as he reaches out, "is it still there? Can I touch it?"

"Absolutely fucking not," Shepard tells him, missing not a breath to thought. He can stretch his grabby little fingers a bit farther, if he wants to lose them; there's a moment there, a reaction. Shepard can see it so clearly in her mind's eye. The way the glass would break, the blood, the way the shards would go into his face if she lunged, if she struck...

It passes, but just for a breath there, just a moment, her control had wavered. Shepard settles back onto her barstool, comfortably, and as best she can provides no outward sign of the near-miss. Had she still possession of her biotics, it would have meant something of a light-show, she was sure. Shameful.

"Nothing to see, anyways; doubt there's even a scar. It's all internal. What kind of research."

"Okay, okay, touchy," he pulls his hand back, and is shameless enough to look disappointed. He's not sure he's heard a no so strong and definitive since he'd first tried to touch Lan Zhan's headband. Though, at least this time he hadn't gotten his hand slapped. If he ever stopped to think about it, he might notice a habit, of touching things he shouldn't, but it's one of those thoughts that's there and gone as quickly as it'd come.

"On the metal things," he clarifies, "the implants. Like, how they make them, and how they react to your..."

He reaches for the word for a moment, "...electrical impulses, what kind of metal they use, that kind of thing."

"And what do you know about it?" Shepard asks swirling the drink in her hand. It's starting to hit now, and she's reminded yet again of how strongly alcohol affects her now, how all her natural advantages have flown away, "That's not exactly basic stuff. You'd have to be pretty smart to already know enough to even know what you were looking at."

She's got a suspicion about you, you little bastard, and she's feeling just grumpy enough to run with it.

"Which part? I only know what you've told me. I don't see any other experts on biotics around here," he scrunches his nose. His research had been mostly theoretical anyway. And it wasn't a crime to be curious. Well. It wasn't technically a crime. Mostly.

"Hey, hey, I happen to be pretty smart, just not in Shepard-world-magic, spells, technology, whatever you want to call it," he adds, just for the sake of his pride.

ONLY, MY SECRET'S MINE, AND I WON'T TELL

QUEEN'S GAMES 8/12 - 8/22

THE CALL 8/16

INDULGENCE 8/13 - 8/23

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i think this is okay?

Yay~

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QUEEN'S GAMES
8/12 - 8/22

THE CALL
8/16

INDULGENCE
8/13 - 8/23