outer_divide | 003 ⌥ VIDEO -- saturday night

[And here's Shepard, out in the fog but you can tell she's walking briskly (presumably back toward the Flop) by the slight rhythmic sway of the camera. But she has SOMETHING IMPORTANT TO SAY, so listen up.]

If you hear this, you need to get inside and keep your door shut. There's something in this fog--the residents are all clearing the streets, and I think I saw a few putting on gas masks.

I repeat, if you hear this, you need to-... [A pause in which keeping a straight face seems difficult, and then she's busting up laughing.] You need to put on a skirt and stand on your head or something, because shit, I don't get why the hell you all listen to me, anyway. [By 'listen to' she means 'generally take orders from', and she distinctly remembers it making sense an hour ago, but now she's had an epiphany and it's fantastic.

Meanwhile, she tames the laughter down to an ecstatic grin, and in a tone that ~~probably~~ definitely makes you wonder what she's planning next and if you should duck and cover, she offers just two words:]

Shepard out.

[End transmission.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Uh huh. Suuuure. Let's go with that.

Just make sure you don't go stumblin' around getting lost now. I'd never be able to find you fog or not. I can't be losing my own personal GPS lady now can I?

They'd find my body in the most horrible bog. It would be awful. You'd feel so bad. It wouldn't be pretty.

[He manages to hide his chuckle as a cough, trying to keep straight faced. He was of course wrongfully thinking this was her first time with some recreational substances and as a long time recreator himself it was amusing to see what he thought was a "rookie".]

[Actually, alcohol's her general poison of choice, so as far as any kind of drugs go, this is her first time. On purpose, anyway. She may or may not have had extensive conversations under the effects of mandatory medical-grade sedatives.

Meanwhile, to his teasing, she snorts.]

That's Commander goddamn Shepard to you, and fuck no am I your keeper.

[All of which is made utterly unintimidating by the grin in her voice.]

[There is a pause and god damn Fox's smirk is audible.]

Commander? Like-- official military sanctioned title?

Oh god where are my manners.
[The video clicks on and he quickly gives a salute, followed by a vague little hand wave as he pulls it away.]

Requesting permission to be assigned as your underling, ma'am!
[Which is just a fancy way of saying he still wants her to be his keeper.]

Hell yes it's official.

Commander of of the SSV Normandy, the best goddamn frigate in Citadel space. I'm also N7, which is all kinds of fancy-talk for 'outer-space Navy SEAL'. And I'm a SPECTRE. I'd tell you what it stands for but fuck if I can think straight enough to remember that right now. Long story short? It means I'm the one person in the whole damn galaxy that the authorities can't even touch.

[But then she's looking puzzled for a second, and then she cracks up laughing. After a few seconds:]

I was, anyway. Then I was dead, then I was undead, and now I'm an intergalactic terrorist. That's what the record says, anyway, not like it changes a damn thing. It just means the Council doesn't have to take the blame when I nuke the Reapers out of orbit and we lose a planet or two in the recoil.

[She's not nearly as sure of her eventual success against the Reapers OR as casual about 'losing a planet or two' when she's not tripping all kinds of balls, but right now she's flying high so you get the whole damn story.

As for his request?]

Permission granted, soldier. Glad to have you on board. [...Noooot that there's even a ship to be 'on board', anyway.]

HA! Now you're my keeper! See how that- wait.

[His brain just started downloading all that information and it sounds way way too much like some kinda original syfy channel movie.]

I was following you up until the zombification and Reapers. And the terrorism. Not that I haven't had my fair share of arson cases, but uh-- Fox says "What?".

[She's running a hand through her hair, trying to think clear enough to know where to even start here.]

I guess if you save enough lives, dying just isn't an option or something. So when you do, some asshole quintillionaire leader of a fucking anti-Citadel terrorist company thing decides the best way to grab at galactic domination is to put all of the little pieces you back together.

And the Reapers, they're... [Oh god, her 'serious' is slipping.] Well, I mean, they're millions of years old, and synthetic, and... [Yeah, okay she loses her edge, cracking a grin again.] And they kind of... look like this. [To demonstrate, she's lifting her hands, palms-together, and wiggling all ten fingers like a big round squid.]

Edited 2012-04-03 07:09 (UTC)

[Damnit Shepard, he almost believed that crock! The serious face drops and he breaks into a laugh and mimics her hand gesture.]

Like this? How could you ever have faced such a peril!! Oh that's right. You're Commander Badass.

Let me know if any of those "reapers" [He makes hand quotes.] are spotted around these parts.

Those fuckers are 500 feet tall, you think I'm shitting you? One of 'em blew a fucking hole in my ship, spent a nice two goddamn years in thirty-one pieces in a lab for that one.

500 feet tall? Impressive. Though I have to say being in thirty pieces is a bit more impressive.

And-- ...you're serious. Like. Serious. As in-- that actually all happened?

What, you think these scars are just for fun?

[After a second, though:] Lemme show you something. [And all of a sudden, she's got a knife, and she's slicing a clean line across her cheek. The resulting cut glows red.] Cybernetics. I said thirty pieces, but not all of 'em were very big. When they put me back together, they had to shove some synthetic shit in there to, to make all of the pieces fit.

[She can't quite remember why she usually doesn't tell people that--it seems harmless enough right now.]

That's uh-- ...not very good for the complexion I hear.

[Then suddenly he ducks out of the screen, fumbling around until he returns with a dented metal flask in hand which he precedes to drink rather quickly from.]

Shit Commander, doesn't that hurt though? Or are you like-- a robot or something now?

[She chuckles.] Hurts a hell of a lot more without the damn fog. [A rare moment of self-awareness in which she remembers what exactly put her in this wtf mental state. But back to his other question:]

Nah, I'm human enough. Upgraded all to shit, but human.

Upgraded. Yeah-- I get ya there.

[If what he had could be even called upgraded. He takes another quick drink of whatever is in that flask and shakes his head.]

So exactly what year are you from, Commander? Cause...that's some heavy shit.

2185. You?

003 ⌥ VIDEO -- saturday night

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