#aleadamia

[wanderey]

@aleadamia​ said ; ❛ You’re good at fixing things. I keep hearing this about you, is that right? ❜

rey blinks, looking up from her drink - head COCKS to the side and she looks him over for a moment before speaking. she does her best to keep her head down, profile low, and her name out of other people’s mouths. the fact that word of her, even seemingly harmless word, is a cause for at least a little bit of concern. maybe it was the kid whos datapad she fixed yesterday. or the guy who just needed someone to recalibrate his ships nav system for a few credits. or - alright, maybe she has been fixing things for people a little more than usual lately.

“depends what you need fixed.” is what she settles on after a beat while leaning back in her chair to peer up at him. “i’m no tech expert, but i can usually figure something out.”

[cryochronism]

@aleadamia // MEME.

[paragonchose]

 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙇  ⇢ @aleadamia​

         “good to see you up and moving, nihlus,” a small but genuine smile lights onto to tired features as shepard nods, relieved to the turian once so frighteningly close to death on his feet, even if the scars still appear painfully fresh. (there are deeper wounds too, she knows, ones that won’t ever show on the sharp and bold angles of his alien form, scars left unapologetically by saren’s hand. wounds may hurt, but betrayal aches.) 

       “i’m afraid i have a favor to ask of you,” her smile grows lopsided with apology and she begins to pace slowly, “i need....help with the council. i’m sort of new to this interspecies diplomacy thing, much less on this scale,” her eyes flicker back to him and shepard scrunches her nose with a quiet sigh. “i was hoping you could lend a few tips on how to not fuck it all up.” 

[solesoldier-a]

@aleadamia ⟶  liked for your government assigned kin fear entity ( a quick primer on the Entities and Avatars if you’re interested )

so, nihlus I had to think about, which I love because he’s honestly so complex that one in particular doesn’t jump out at me. so I’m torn between him being an avatar of either the End or of the Hunt; which isn’t to say he can’t be linked to both. the more I think about it, the more i’m absolutely in love with the idea of him being one of those soft spoken avatars of death, being so intimately acquainted with it. the End is while one of the most conceptual entities, is one of the most interesting because it’s both unavoidable, but not always frightening to those they encounter. and the more i think about it, the more I think about how perfect the End and the Hunt in tandem are AAAA!! he’s here to usher people towards their death, sometimes peacefully; and sometimes after a long chase, staring down the edge of a gun barrel. i feel that a lot of turians are probably linked with the Hunt (or the Slaughter) in some way, as it would be unavoidable with their strong military ties or being in c-sec.

thinking about entities in opposition is also a challenge, you can’t really oppose the End as death is the most natural thing in the world. I think, the one that would take the most interest in Nihlus would probably be the Spiral? he’s not unsusceptible to deceit and trickery or getting in his own head about it. god that’s both so interesting and so sad. nihlus is a tough one !! but these are just some initial thoughts. 

[praeceptr]

Arum & Balsamine ! || @aleadamia​​ (src) || accepting

Arum - Has your muse ever been religious? Are they now? Can they be swayed into a faith?

Mordin is religious albeit he does not exactly ascribed to a particular faith. This is relatively recent and came about due to age + his growing awareness of mortality. Priding himself as a man of science, when he was younger — Mordin did not exactly favour the divine ; preferring heavily to hedge his bets on science rather than faith. This changed after everything he had seen during his time in the STG. 

He had an existential crisis of sorts, you could say. What he did, what he had done bothered him tremendously thus he turned back to the pages of religion he once scorned. Real or not, maybe there’s some consolation for the lives he had taken at the end of the day ... Maybe for him as well. 

Balsamine - What is their level of patience, and how hard does one have to push to make your muse snap?

Oh, he’s absolutely patient with others. It comes with age and experience. As a doctor, he’s incredibly used to uncooperative and difficult patients — whether individuals with Iatrophobia (fear of doctors), distrustful aliens (whether species or Mordin himself), or the run-of-the-mill Karen’s (you know the ones). His patience has definitely been honed and perfected to an incredible degree. Of course, it’s not infinite.

Disrupting his job, recklessly endangering others, or if you’re Kirrahe in general are the quickest way to test his patience. Once his patience is thin — you’ll find that he becomes blunter and far more scathing with his remarks. 

[floraye-archive]

    ❀ //        CURIOUS mismatched eyes looked at the turian’s face for a moment, turning his gaze away when he’s looked back at. being curious and intimidated at the same time, is a weird feelinng. but rye’s curiosity definitely has the upper hand now.

“so...” the florist starts, pursing his lips for a moment before he continues talking.

“what do does.. markings on your face mean? are they like tattoos?”

@aleadamia​ liked for a one-liner starter!

[afraidofchange]

"Commander. Happy, ah, butch appreciation day...?"

@aleadamia

"That's a... that's a thing?" Surprise colours the Commander's face; of course, there had always been days granted for a number of minor things, like National Pancake Day or Sibling Day, though this is, truly, the first she's heard of one that seems to be for her like that - and coming from Nihlus, of all people, well, it's a surprise, but a pleasant one. "Well, thank you. I uh, didn't know but... that seems like that calls for a celebration. You in for a drink?"

[galaeus]

starter: @aleadamia​​ synopsis: posing as the contraxian contact waiting for nihlus, cerberus can only hope their agent can snatch a high-value smuggled resource before the citadel ever can. 

WHEN SHE AGREED TO THE TERMS Cerberus laid out on a silver platter to join their endeavor of righting wrongs, stumbling back to the planet she’d fought so hard to leave behind may have been in the fine print. Reluctance settled in like an unpleasant memory as soon as she touched down, encompassed by the neon promises of anything goes. It only took the whisper of a high-value delivery capable of catastrophic consequences for the Citadel Council to realize everyone on this planet really meant the sentiment.

Nihlus; she’s studied the name and what little information they had to spare about him. The original contact had been dealt with -- non-lethally, upon request -- and she finds herself trying to hold steady at the table once designated for them to meet. If she’s lucky, she can pull off playing the part of someone hoping to help the Council with insider knowledge. A noble effort, truly, to end a valuable crime before it can ever take off. And if this goes sideways? As far as she’s concerned, Cerberus has ways of dealing with that as well.

Echo only wishes it was a little less bright and a little more quiet, but both are rare to find on this wasteland planet of snow. A rowdy nightclub is about as anonymous as the two can get. At the sight of a turian relatively within the parameters of the appearance briefing she’d received, the Contraxian sits up a little straighter and sips at her drink. If the former contact confessed the truth, then she should have no issue catching his attention.

[starlegacy]

@aleadamia​​  /   “give and take. that’s life.”

          SHE  HAS  NO  more  left  to  give.  she  is  empty.  a  husk.  she  no  longer  wishes  to  take  the  parts  of  herself  and  offer  them  up  to  any  who  wishes  to  take.  she  could  beg.  get  on  her  knees  /  clasps  her  hands  together  /  scream  and  cry  out  for  some  sort  of  relief.  it’s  all  she  wants.  it  is  all  she  has  wanted  for  the  last  few  years.  she  doesn’t  know  how  to  take  --  she  only  knows  of  the  giving.  she  only  knows  of  sacrifice.  it  is  all  she’s  ever  been  taught.    “  is  this  all  life  is  ever  going  to  be?  ”    she  wonders  aloud  and  once  she  realizes  she  has  let  the  doubt  find  purchase  in  her  voice  ...  she  realizes  she  does  not  regret  letting  it  happen.  a  small  part  of  all  that  weight  settled  on  her  chest  lifts  as  she  does.    “  is  it  only  ever  going  to  be  me  giving  all  that  i  have  and  everyone  taking  it  without  a  second  glance?  ”

[cryptiique]

“  you don’t have to worry so much.  ” // for kaecus! ( @aleadamia​ )

               " —— yeah? it’s a nice sentiment. the whole galaxy's filled with people who don't worry enough. that's why it is the way it is, and we're all drowning in shit. so, excuse me if i'll worry enough for everyone, thanks. nobody else is going to do it. you show me any actual changes in this place, and maybe then i’ll stop. sound good? "

[biotek]

“  it’s strange how we’ve ended up here.  ”    he begins,  trailing off immediately as soon as the statement is introduced.  kaidan knows what he’d say next:  the crew used to speak of you as if you were some ghost,  haunting the metal corridors of the normandy,  trailing shepard at every waking moment.  there’s no need.  it’s buried deep in the past,  before saren and soveriegn burned through the skies of eden prime.    “  you had two future spectres on that ship all that time ago,  not just the one.  the commander was the flashier choice,  i admit.  ”    :  @aleadamia.

[cryochronism]

@aleadamia​ // sc.

❝Hey, you. I heard along the grapevine you needed a tech expert.❞ She makes a habit of appearing out of thin air, it seems, but certainly lacks the fleet-footed elusiveness of someone like Goto. Quinn’s smile is schooled, though pleasant; dimpling her cheeks and creasing the corners of her eyes. As if playing the part of an old friend dropping in for a late dinner. Hardly the case, and though that smile doesn’t so much as flicker, she’s quick to business. ❝I got the basics from our mutual pal. Something about a potential double agent - but do you have more details on what kind of security you need bypassed?❞

[turianrebel-archived]

Hooking a talon against the top of his armor, pulling him down with a light tug, Nihlus bumps their foreheads with a light trill—praise suffused through the notes. "Good job out there, Vakarian."

IT’S  ABRUPT  ,  BUT  NOT  UNWELCOME  .  garrus  cants  his  head  into  the  very  turian  movement  ,  allowing  a  moment  to  pause  and  accept  the  praise  after  battle  .  he’s  still  out  of  breath  ,  slightly  panting  ,  mandibles  trembling  with  every  heavy  inhale  ,  but  nihlus  somehow  manages  to  calm  him  .  garrus  releases  a  shaky  chuckle  and  returns  the  favor  with  a  trill  of  his  own  .  ❝  thanks  .  you  too  ,  nihlus  .  saw  you  covering  my  ass  a  few  times  out  there  — —  i  appreciate  the  assist  .  ❞  another  trill  ,  this  one  far  more  muted  .  ❝  we  make  a  pretty  good  team  .  ❞

[solesoldier-a]

( @aleadamia​ )

A  SIGH  OVERWELMS  THE  SPACE,  like  a  bullet  ricocheting  off  the  walls  of  the  hollow  and  empty  cabin.   There  were  attempts  made  to  approximate  her  tastes  and  preferences:  thread - count  sheets,  scent  of  shampoo,  oddly  enough  they  got  her  shoe  size  correct.   It  made  her  skin  itch           the  skin  still  tugging  at  the  seams,  stretched  around  FALSE bones ;  she’d  never  found  herself  out  of  place  in  her  own  body  before.  She  could’ve  got  the  answers  she  wanted ;  could’ve  let  Chakwas  do  however  many  invasive  procedures  she  needed,  could’ve  marched  right  up  to  Miranda  and  demanded  to  know  just  how  much  of  this  body  was  actually  hers.   But  that  was  a  slow  decent  into  madness  she  didn’t  have  the  luxury  of  devoting  time  to.

Fingers  grip  the  bridge  of  her  nose  and  silence  befalls  the  room  for  forty-six  seconds  precisely.  Though  the  message  on  the  terminal  had  been  left  open  two  days  now.

The  commander  opens  her  eyes  and  drafts  a  message  for  the  third  time.

𝙽. 

 𝚈𝚎𝚜, 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚖𝚎. 𝚈𝚎𝚜, 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎.  𝙽𝚘, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚕. 𝙸'𝚍 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜... 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜? 𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠. 

 -𝚂.

This  shouldn’t  be  as  difficult  as  she’s  making  it,  she  tells  herself          just  send  the  damn  message,  he  deserves  a  response.  Far  too  many  of  her  greatest  battles  had  been  fought  inside  her  own  head ;   and  if  anyone  knew  that,  he  certainly  did.  But  she  can’t  think  on  it  any  longer.

❛   EDI  .  .  .  go  ahead  and  plot  a  course  to  the  Citadel.    ❜   As  she  stands,  she  hits  enter  and  makes  her  exit.

[mysteriene]

⌦ @aleadamia​ · Nihlus Kryik sent ›

Navigating the realm of politics with matriarchs, as he’s come to realize, is a slow and arduous affair that's fraught with more danger than facing the Reapers. Undoubtedly, some have retained their authority for centuries amidst Asari society, power and influence garnered over the long years, and—while pouring over terabytes worth of documents, looking for any advantage in this arena of wits and extortion, Nihlus nudges her; signaling the time for a break with a low noise at the base of his throat. “C’mon, our food got delivered and you’ve been staring at those screens for most of the day, Dr. T’soni.” As always, he retains this sense of formality, respect and affection woven in his voice, natural and unfeigned. “Besides, I'm curious as to how you got started with archaeology. It doesn’t seem to be, ah, a rather popular field of study among your people.”

Perhaps it has something to do with having lifespans long enough to witness the entire rise and fall of other species’ civilizations.

               In fifty years, Liara had been under much scrutiny of Asari Matriarchs; left to her own devices, exploring ageless wonders. She surmises if staying within prothean ruins would lead her to the same conflict—conclusions. Yet, doubt lingers as a vice, knowing how she would be ill-equipped to deal with the truth. What Liara dreads now, is returning to the playing field of Thessia’s secrets and politics; she has no forgotten the power and influence of her Elders—Benezia remaining notable. Their obstinacy rivaled even the Krogan, often refuting new theories—curiosities—enough to send the youth away from Thessia, out into the Galaxy. Liara, no less, being one of those to leave and pursue her own ambitions.

               It is what led the asari to view these screens, and dive right back into the hellhole of Thessian secrets. She never thought to look upon Doctor Passante again—not be lectured how her motivations were akin to Benezia’s own passions. A decent... into madness. The relation is not lost on Liara—perhaps one could be too much like their own parents. She would not devolve into a lesser being, not while the Galaxy was at stake. It would be a lie, if Liara said she did not know the sentiment; hunting her predecessor just a sample of completely forsaking herself. The Asari surmises, she has Shepard to thank for that.

               Diligent hues pace from screen to screen—observing various passageways for information. She had been into her home-world’s archives, looked over various notes, data-logs, seeking anything that could have possibly been overlooked. Liara knows better, even Matriarchs hold closely guarded secrets. If only she could gather enough information for a lead—just enough to aid them in this altercation, and save lives. Liara can’t bring herself to think about those that they’ve lost—it's about the rest they can possibly save. Even the young asari isn’t foolish enough to believe they can save them all. She is prepared to lay down her own life.

               Her train of thought is interrupted, taken by the slight nudge that requires her attention. Dark lashes blink, veering towards a familiar face. Nihlus sought her out, on the behalf of respite. Liara, persistent in her ways, would easily take her food and keep looking. Information is a trade she comes by naturally—but even Liara cannot deny drowning in the feeds. Reluctantly, she relents, accepting the invitation to breathe—to talk. The Asari found herself enjoying the moments when they’ve exchanged thoughts, sharing a quieter ambience than a warzone or husk infested building. Liara is thankful for it.

               “I will say, you are right in the variance between myself and others. My passions are frowned upon, especially when I was on Thessia. It is why I found myself frequenting ruins, not unlike Therum,” A smile flashes towards Nihlus while Liara affirms his request with a subtle nod; this break couldn’t hurt, maybe it could restore the loss of vigor. She pauses, catching onto the quip about her fondness of archaeology. Such query could only broaden her smile, musing prior thoughts—but Liara is not without her own curiosity. “You are not getting further answers, unless you’re willing to share your own stories—becoming soldier comes to mind.” Of course, as the Shadow Broker, Liara has access to privy documentation; she finds it more appropriate to hear word-of-mouth, rather than words displayed across a screen. The asari saves that for her friends, her loved ones. It is a precious means to get to know them. Liara did not have much time to genuinely know Nihlus, except for the fact there is more wisdom in him, than he lets on.

               Indeed, she  could use a break.

[galaeus]

“need some space?”

ALL SHE HAS WANTED in the last several hours is a moment to breathe, think, process --- regroup to walk back with an unnatural smile. Becoming someone else ought to be something of a forte, a refined art adopted from birth in this godforsaken wasteland. The cold keeps her alert, reminds her of what she used to be, funneling through persona after persona in the name of survival: the feral. The useful. The key. Cerberus needs her as badly as Nihlus may believe he does, but she can feel it in the numbness of her fingertips: she is no whispered confidante, a Trinity, with the nobility to take down powers greater than herself.

Not when she’s reminded of what she once was when the two pass one of the many underground rings on the planet’s outposts. The stench of sweat invades her nostrils first, then the hint of dried blood she’s committed to memory. Sand. Stands. Something so finite unlocks images she’d rather drill out of her head with cybernetics, replacing them with something less sharp. Her fists instinctually clench with the muscle memory of danger, heart sprinting with the plead to go until she abruptly excuses herself from the turian, allowing herself precious minutes of regrouping she needs to function on.

Figures he follows. He guaranteed her safety like a damn fool.

She’s managed to dial it down a few notches in an alleyway when his voice breaks the silence of the fallen snow and muffled violent shouts from the event hub. Had he stood there long? Had she? The Contraxian manages half a nod before she shakes her head, ponytail catching on her jacket. “People fight here,” she speaks plainly, unable to remove the waver in her throat before she answers. Echo -- Trinity -- draws in a slow inhale and holds it for four seconds, exhaling in a cloud. Then: honesty by the grace of anonymity given she will never see him again after this mission. In a twisted sense, it’s safe to be candid here. “It bothers me, being here. Knowing what goes on in those places. I... apologize, for leaving you.”

/ @aleadamia​​