i. The tavern The difference in light and sound is a slap in the face.
Shepard had expected... quiet. But the waiting quiet, before the storm. The kind of silence you got when breaking it meant an attack. What she got instead was... the sound of someone in another room, clinking glasses together. The quiet noises a wood-construction house makes. She had gone from screaming cacophony of one warzone into another into... peace.
Or something like it.
She looks around the room with the wary eye of someone who has reason to expect something quite dangerous to happen, any moment. When the room continues to be a room, and nothing particularly untoward happens, she eventually slides up to the bar and, with some caution, starts asking questions.
And then, why the hell not?, she starts asking for a drink. By the time you found her, she's a few into it, sipping whiskey with a couple of empty glasses at her elbow, and burping flames. She's had a long fucking day.
ii. dryad lands Shepard has been walking the streets of the Dryad's Grey Quarter and beyond for several hours and she's come to a few conclusions. First, it's either the most incredible setup she's ever personally experienced, either in terms of lying, mind-fuckery, or some kind of holographic suite, or... this is real.
And if it's real, then... Maybe Snow wasn't entirely full of shit to begin with. Maybe he really hadn't had the power to pull whoever he wanted, whatever his reasons. And that meant— well, maybe they'd been a bit premature in killing his engineers. Bit late for regrets.
Still, she's more comfortable now that some charitable soul has traded her for a set of local clothes: charcoal-black and wool, thick against the late-winter chill. She can't quite shake the lost feeling, though, despite the confidence of her stride. Was this what she'd left for?
No. Hell no. But you can't deny, it's better than home. Whatever home meant anymore.
iii. ember veil cw: violence against minors Of course, one cannot long wander without encountering the good news of the day: there's a hot springs and you can drink while submerged in it. Those who come upon Shepard will find her lying back in the water wearing underpants and a bra a little else— both are black embroidered with a stern red D5. There is a bottle of wine, with a good few fingers missing.
The water appears to be showing the ghostly images of children with bows and axes running through the forest, or— no, there are some adults, and— they're being chased? By dinosaurs? As she takes a long pull from the wine, one of the creatures leaps onto a child's back, shredding it liberally, blood like wet confetti, and as it does so the others continue to pursuit.
"Figures that even here, I can't get away from the damn Hunger Games," She mutters, certainly more to herself than anyone nearby. She sounds very tired.
iv. questboard Shepard's boots are thick and well-insulated, military-style, crunching on the rime-over-snow texture of the street in front of the questboard. Her arms are crossed and she's dressed all in charcoal-black, her red hair a brilliant blaze in the otherwise-grey day. She's considering her options; is this why they're all here?
Save the world? Sure.
Inane chorelist of a missionlog? Yeah, why not.
Honestly, it's just a novelty, to have the option to say no. And even if none of it matters all that much, all of it matters. These read like actual problems people have. Paying jobs. Never thought turning merc would look so appealing.
Commander Shepard ⭐ Mass Effect Trilogy (The Games CRAU) ⭐ Dryad
The difference in light and sound is a slap in the face.
Shepard had expected... quiet. But the waiting quiet, before the storm. The kind of silence you got when breaking it meant an attack. What she got instead was... the sound of someone in another room, clinking glasses together. The quiet noises a wood-construction house makes. She had gone from screaming cacophony of one warzone into another into... peace.
Or something like it.
She looks around the room with the wary eye of someone who has reason to expect something quite dangerous to happen, any moment. When the room continues to be a room, and nothing particularly untoward happens, she eventually slides up to the bar and, with some caution, starts asking questions.
And then, why the hell not?, she starts asking for a drink. By the time you found her, she's a few into it, sipping whiskey with a couple of empty glasses at her elbow, and burping flames. She's had a long fucking day.
ii. dryad lands
Shepard has been walking the streets of the Dryad's Grey Quarter and beyond for several hours and she's come to a few conclusions. First, it's either the most incredible setup she's ever personally experienced, either in terms of lying, mind-fuckery, or some kind of holographic suite, or... this is real.
And if it's real, then... Maybe Snow wasn't entirely full of shit to begin with. Maybe he really hadn't had the power to pull whoever he wanted, whatever his reasons. And that meant— well, maybe they'd been a bit premature in killing his engineers. Bit late for regrets.
Still, she's more comfortable now that some charitable soul has traded her for a set of local clothes: charcoal-black and wool, thick against the late-winter chill. She can't quite shake the lost feeling, though, despite the confidence of her stride. Was this what she'd left for?
No. Hell no. But you can't deny, it's better than home. Whatever home meant anymore.
iii. ember veil cw: violence against minors
Of course, one cannot long wander without encountering the good news of the day: there's a hot springs and you can drink while submerged in it. Those who come upon Shepard will find her lying back in the water wearing underpants and a bra a little else— both are black embroidered with a stern red D5. There is a bottle of wine, with a good few fingers missing.
The water appears to be showing the ghostly images of children with bows and axes running through the forest, or— no, there are some adults, and— they're being chased? By dinosaurs? As she takes a long pull from the wine, one of the creatures leaps onto a child's back, shredding it liberally, blood like wet confetti, and as it does so the others continue to pursuit.
"Figures that even here, I can't get away from the damn Hunger Games," She mutters, certainly more to herself than anyone nearby. She sounds very tired.
iv. questboard
Shepard's boots are thick and well-insulated, military-style, crunching on the rime-over-snow texture of the street in front of the questboard. Her arms are crossed and she's dressed all in charcoal-black, her red hair a brilliant blaze in the otherwise-grey day. She's considering her options; is this why they're all here?
Save the world? Sure.
Inane chorelist of a missionlog? Yeah, why not.
Honestly, it's just a novelty, to have the option to say no. And even if none of it matters all that much, all of it matters. These read like actual problems people have. Paying jobs. Never thought turning merc would look so appealing.