#especially in this case where it was apparently important enough for them to handpick in the first place...

[chirpsythismorning]

Ya'll catch the final rose ceremony at the end of s4?!

[pickyperkypenguin]

of mushrooms and recklessness

I ate a mushroom today.

You see, I’m from a mycophilic kind of country, so it’s a pretty normal thing, ingrained deeply in our cuisine, especially when it’s season for them and I like mushrooms. They taste great and they make a very good ingredient.

We have lots of kinds of mushrooms here, and lots of names for them. I always feel so emptyhanded, when I have to reiterate to Latin, when there is no equivalent common name for a particular mushroom in English. Oh, those mycophobes (please, imagine this said with Bobby Farell’s voice, the same way he speaks at the end of ‘Rasputin’)

But, back to the mushrooms eating – they’re a food not worth sparing a thought when they’re champignons. Grown (hah, and I’m already missing a word covering ‘the place where champignons are grown by people in a controlled environment’, pieczarkarnia) on a mushroom farm, they are as safe as they’re bland. I can eat them and not even think of Caesar or shamans of Syberia.

But then I’m sometimes offered handpicked mushrooms, and I usually stop to think. Do I know if the person who picked them knew their skill? Do I trust them and my fate today? Do I trust fate at all, because even the most experienced (and another word missing, grzybiarz, plural: grzybiarze) people who pick mushrooms are sometimes wrong, and sometimes it’s just bad luck, or the mimicry and similitude especially intense that day? You never know. And so you sometimes trust, like me, or don’t trust at all, like my mother (funny thing that it’s the only thing we’re completely reversed in the putting trust matter).

Sometimes, though, it’s not really your friend or family who offer you this autumnal gift – sometimes it’s just you who saw giant caps of parasol mushroom (kania, a homophone of milvus milvus or milvus migrans, apparently called red kite and black kite. Funny it’s also a homophone in English too) in your favourite greengrocer, and, unfortunately, forgot to ask where did they come from.

Were they picked in the forest? Were they grown on a mushroom farm? Do you even grow a parasol mushroom on a farm?

A note on a margin – how nice that parasol mushroom does have a name here. Also, the answer to the question above is: no, there are only two kinds of farms, for champignons and pleurotus, or boczniak as we call it. Boczniaki are super tasty and I love them especially.

Yesterday I was so full of energy that I made a soup, a batch of ginger ale, and baked a pie – all in a span of one afternoon, right after coming from my internship hours full of sending emails, running to the post and doing an exhibition inventory in a dark basement, and after that eating some brief meal at home and grocery shopping. So, after that, things couldn’t go to waste, ‘cause some vegetables are just not made for laying around too long, also I would like to eat sometimes, so cooking it was. I was a bit tired after all that, and I didn’t really spare much thought on how I did not ask the lady at the greengrocer where the hell those mushrooms came from.

So, that day went around without me caring about a single mushroom (also because it came out I didn’t have yeast nor sourdough starter, so I had to cease my plans that involved making some savoury pastries with champignons, onion and meat inside them, on top of all the cooking I done that day). The next day, though, which is today, to be precise, my eyes spotted two big caps of parasol mushrooms that were laying on the kitchen counter since yesterday, and I was immediately enlightened with a vision of them fried like cutlets. It’s a traditional way of preparing kanie here. Well, here as regional here, I’m pretty sure Czechs and Slovaks would prepare them the same way.

I did as I thought, and I took a first couple of bites of my deliciously looking mushroom posing as a cutlet – and I felt it tasted bitter.

Now, after all that, I read somewhere that it can happen after frying, particularly if it was an older mushroom – but then I was aware of two things: that either I prepared it wrong (which isn’t exactly correct, but I was indeed not aware that the preparation can make it bitter and that the cap I tasted was probably older, so, this assumption is much more correct) and that the lore passed by XIX century polish villagers states that bitter mushrooms are poisonous.

Now hold on a second, while I will explain: there are two kinds of my reactions to basically everything, one when I have sufficient knowledge or information, and the one when I don’t. It was the second version this time, I have never handpicked a mushroom in my life except for some puffballs growing in my backyard when I was a kid. My practical knowledge of mushrooms is exceptionally scarce. I have no idea if I would be able to identify correctly a fungus in the wild, or in the less–wild of my kitchen. I had also been blissfully submerged in thoughts and daydreams when I was preparing my parasols for cooking and my observation  of their appearance was perfunctory at best.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a pretty good photographic memory, and I can usually recall a pretty detailed visual image of things I’ve seen, even if not focused on remembering them. But when you’re trying to identify anything by its looks, it’s pretty important to catch every detail. Especially when it’s so easy to mistake between species and end up eating the very wrong one.

Why had I panicked so fast? Well, as I said, I had no experience nor sufficient data to extrapolate and reach any valid conclusion on whether or not the thing I was eating was any good, and all I had in my head were scraps of oral tradition. And as reliable and rich with experience of generations as it is, it has its moments of rapid clashing with modern knowledge. And medicine.

Of course, I immediately googled what kania can visually resemble and what can it be mistaken with, and I was just about punched in the face, because it can be – by some – mistaken with not only amanita pantherina (panther cap), chlorophyllum rhacodes/macroleptiota rhacodes (shaggy parasol), but also lepiota especially helveola and chlorophyllum molybdites (green spored parasol), and if you’re unobservant enough, with amanita phalloides (death cap).

The only one among them that is mostly just diarrhoea inducing is the shaggy parasol, and even this one is not entirely safe. The rest...? Let’s say, there was a reason why a dish made of amanita caesarea with some addition of its less friendly cousins sneaked in was a good way for ancient Romans to, ahem, get rid of their chosen fellows that hindered their businesses. And why Henry Winter was so bent on having a mushroom stew for dinner with Bunny Corcoran.

Seriously, I went from happily chewing on a mushroom cutlet to panicking about possible poisoning in about three and a quarter seconds.

After I looked and compared carefully the mental image of not yet coated in egg and breadcrumbs cap of my supposed parasol mushroom with the ominous images from the Internet, I came to a conclusion, that it is, most likely, a goddamn honest and innocent kania.

But I was not about to eat any more of it. I was too scared, that perhaps I’m wrong. As much as I hate, literally hate, to throw out any food (again, a culture thing and an uprising thing, I guess. When I compare how much more some western nations are throwing out food, I feel like I’m getting hives, cold and a rash all at once just from looking at it. One does not throw out food, unless it’s spoiled. Then you can. And better don’t let it spoil, do something with it before. Sorry, rant over) I just had to throw out on a compost pile my perfectly fine two fried parasol mushrooms. I couldn’t let my father eat it, just in case, my mother wouldn’t anyway, so, safe from that angle, and I went through too much nerves over those stupid caps. At least they weren’t overly pricey.

I have also preventively made some steps to be sure I won’t get a poisoning from all this, and let me just say, it really wasn’t pleasant. I vomit very rarely, even after excessive drinking – there were literally three of those occasions in my life and I remember every single one in a painful detail – so it’s not the favourite way for my body of getting rid of toxins, and as it comes out, despite having an upchuck reflex, it is not so easy for me to provoke actual results. Also, I tend to feel like I already died after.

But I did what I had to, and went on with my day, promising myself to stick to black tea till tomorrow. Well, maybe I will eat something for supper, I’ll see.

Why am I even talking about this?

Well, except for the want of sharing a NEar dEAth EXPERIENcE!!!11! and talking about mushrooms, which I wanted to talk about for some time, it was one of the situations when I remembered again, that I kind of want to live.

Sometimes I’m in such a floaty thinking places, where all borders and world itself doesn’t even seem real, everything is fluid and kind of bad, and kind of boring, kind of not worth anything and especially not suffering, and I can’t really remember what I was even doing here, on this earth? Was I having fun? Was I enjoying something? Was I living, really? What were my interests? Did I had any goals? Was I just drifting through space? Am I an entity with a meaning or am I a speckle that nobody would notice, if not for obvious consequences of my existing?

I don’t think of suicide. Never did, never want to. I was just thinking of not existing, and not as a thing that I would want to actually happen to me. Those are very abstract thoughts for me, those of nonexistence, more of concepts, and they occur only when I’m not sure if I am, well, whatever I am, and when I’m letting my thoughts loose and free to roam. They’re more academical in nature.

What is more personal in them, is this – I never wanted to live a ‘meaningful’ life. I can fully accept, that life might not have have any meaning (or it can, I don’t particularly care). Or that it might be incomprehensible for me. Or that everybody makes the meaning of their life, and that meaning belongs to us, the entirety of us, our identities with all our bindings and horizons that allow us constructing our visions – and that this is the way we can give the meaning to our life.

All those concepts I find sound and valid. All possible, and more of them. I just don’t really have the universal or objective truth as a valid concept in my world view. So I don’t have to believe in any of them, and I don’t have to choose. They’re all tales we spin for ourselves, or that are spun for us. Co–spinning would be a more correct term for this, I think.

The older I’m getting, the more choices I’m having – or the more responsible for them I become – I’m starting to get, not intellectually, but in my heart, the fact, that I can literally do anything I want in and with my life. With some limitations and consequences, of course, but you get the gist.

I wasn’t so sure of that before. Theoretically, I knew, but having less responsibility for myself (It was a different kind of burden, when I was trying more to appeal or appease someone who held my responsibility for me than to actually bear that responsibility) I had less choices to make. That’s the correlation, that’s the thing I’m discovering now.

So, I felt like that, even before, that I wasn’t sure if I was living. I didn’t really had a lot of situations to feel it, living the privileged and, let’s not be afraid of that word, sheltered life I did, that was reinforced with my tendency to take as little risk as it is always possible. I just didn’t, and still I don’t, make rash choices. I think all things through and through. I plan, I analyse, I extrapolate. I beware all potential dangers, I hate surprises.

I’m not spontaneous. The last spontaneous thing I did was buying a bunch of radishes on sale, even though I didn’t plan to. What a wild life.

When I had my mandatory field practices back in the first and second year of my studies, I was putting myself in a different mode – open to everything, not planning much, simply because I wasn’t able to, mostly. It was not depending on me. It was all dictated by my surroundings, opportunities and situations. I had to deal with it, there was no other way around.

And I managed. Quite well, I’d say.

I remember one of those field practices: it was an abhorrently hot July, with weather enhanced additionally by the proximity of power station, notabene influencing the whole ecosystem it was built into. The asphalt was a pan, and I was walking on it, thinking if it was possible for the soles of my shoes to be melted by the contact with the almost liquid black.

I was marching on the side of the road to the next village – there were no other methods of transportation, unless one had a bike or a car. I had neither. I was in this out–of–touch state, when my mind bored to the bone with the long walk and uneventful landscape was doing whatever it wanted, and my emotional state back then was leaving much to desire, too. I was thinking of not existing again, of all its possible outcomes and consequences, in a remote, abstract way – when I suddenly noticed I was walking a viaduct without any sort of pavement, not really even a footpath. I think I missed the road sign of ‘no pedestrians allowed’, because I was so disengaged and distracted.

There were a lot of cars. Thankfully no police, though.

Then, after the string of quite fast moving cars came a string of about three or four trucks.

You don’t really think about how big a truck is in your daily life, or just how monstrous is the idea of a puny human piloting a beast made of metal and capable of killing you by accident.

I think life was on my side that day, and I was not even honked at, but I was awfully close to more–than–five ton trucks and the sheer wind, the movement of air induced by them that sort of, well, not pushed, but encouraged my body to get closer to the railing, was enough to make me vividly aware how fragile my life is, and how easily would it be not exist by pure chance.

In that same moment, I’ve had another thought.

I wanted to live, definitely. I wanted to keep my existence on this earth, as I was most certainly not done.

I didn’t really know what I wasn’t done with, or when I would supposed to be accomplished and if after that it would be acceptable to go – I just knew I needed more time to do stuff here.

Right now I’m on the path, hopefully, of figuring out what is that I actually want to do. Maybe it will somehow happen. I don’t know, I’m just so happy to know that I want to accomplish something. That I want to do something. I wasn’t really sure before, and I’m sometimes not sure now, but most of the time I feel like it would actually change me somehow – which is actually what this whole thing is about, a proof that I exist.

I hope, too, that I will find the will, the power, the willpower for it, for finding and pursuing and carrying on, and for the results – or a graceful acceptance of re-evaluation of my goals during the way, if I find it necessary.

I got yelled at by my friend at Monday, and I think he wanted to tell me about some of those things too. That it’s not about some kind of worthiness, that you can just do things. And that they have an outcome and an impact. That it can be felt.

Speaking of feeling, I felt very cared for, by the way, thanks to that yelling, because that’s how my friend shows he cares – if he finds a person worth being annoyed with, it is because he wants the person to not fucking suck and self-sabotage, as he sees their inherent value as much more. Aggressive caring sometimes really works on me, here mostly because his yelling was very constructive and I could draw useful conclusions from it.

So, concluding all that I said here: if my hitherto way of careful living did not bring me much, perhaps a change would be good, even though it won’t be easy at all, and pretty sure it’ll be painful in some ways, and that I will have to overcome a lot of my habits and maybe even things that lay deep in my personality. Basically, that some recklessness, spontaneity and adrenaline high tasks would be healthy for me, probably. Oh dear.

Maybe if I find the courage for the openness, for not being ashamed of who I am as a person, and instead I will hold my ground and make my own mistakes, decide on some things, I will feel better. This way, I will be able to own those things, and make myself –– an author.

[kendrixtermina]

Kenny Reacts to: Ramayana (& Hindu Mythology in General)

So, for those who don’t know, “Ramayana” is one of the big epics of Hindu Mythology, comparable to the Illiad or other legendary Kings such as David or Arthur, centering around Prince/King Ramchandr, one of the Avatars of Vishnu

My boyfriend (who happens to be Indian) introuced me to a TV show based on it, and I, being a mythology nerd, couldn’t resist...

Since a lot of people actually believe in this as a religion, first a disclaimer: I’m a complete atheist with no belief in the supernatural whatsover, but I’m a huge believer in the value of storytelling (and a writer - the more mythological references the better, at least if you’re aiming for as much of an ‘universal’ flavor as possible) and do hold that myth holds an important place in the human experience. I will be approaching this completely from a literature perspective. 

My boyfriend is not a believer either, though he used to be an actual Hindu growing up & still has it as a cultural background (I know myself that the stories you’re brought up on do influence you just by the archetypes and poetic shorthands they make available to you) - apparently he found it quite interesting to see me react to it & see it properly from start to finish. (though it has actually caused a resurgence in childhood song earworms)

So, with that out of the way, let’s get to the actual “review”

What did I watch

It’s a somewhat older show from the 80s or 90s so the special effects could have been better - but I say that only because with a concept like “Demons versus monkey people” and “battles with dark sorcery and vaguely described divine weapons” there is a lot of potential for creative visuals. 

In this implementation the style of costumes was more “historical” overall, but great care was taken nonetheless. 

Indeed, though childhood nostalgia filter my boyfriend likes this particular version because it was made by an 80 year old dude who dreamt all his life of making a TV show out of this story & worked hard to make everything ~just right~ - there have been never, fancier interpretations since but they tend to be more generic & plasticy in terms of the actual screenplay (my boyfriend, though biased by childhood exposure, says that “You don’t get the feeling that you’re looking at Ram, you’re looking at a supermodel”) whereas in this one, the director took great care to write all the songs & handpick the actors - 

Which, with those mythical, ‘archetypical’ characters is quite important, they have to have the right ‘aura’, ‘presence’ or ‘atmosphere’ around them to connect to the larger-than-life timeless ideas they’re intended to embody. They made sure to cast tall, wry dudes as the monkey people, had some really good acting, made sure supposed relatives actually look alike etc. 

This adaptation (at least insofar as I’ve watched it) seems to have gone with the “good ending”, that is, the version where the Prince & his wife live happily ever after returning to their home city (for a change, the original/older one... though it makes little sense to debate about the true version of a myth, it’s their very nature to be passed around & reinterpreted and for each listener & reteller to put their own spin on it) - there’s a second one that’s much more anal about social divisions, harder on the mysoginy and ends with him disowning her ass, though there’s some ring to the idea of the Princess returting to whence she came (mother Earth) in humiliation. It depends on what sort story you want though it doesn’t seem to fit with Ram’s characterization as the type who always looks to resolve things peacefully & reasonably & think before acting, & he may lose some of what makes him interesting if you take that away. 

Indeed the director saw the need to sanitize even the orginal “chastity test by fire” scene - more than I would have done even if I wanted the Prince to keep looking heroic, I suppose, a lot like how many Christians will explain away many inconsistencies in the bible (and pretty much everything in the book of Judges) because they need their headcanon to be consistent with what they associate with the deities. 

The Cosmology

One of the interesting parts about this particular ‘verse that got me more interested in it beyond my initial watching of that show is the rather complex makep of the world -

In most places religion has gone though certain discrete stages in accordance to the civilization that thought it up, with the various ideas (animism, polytheism, dualism, monotheistm etc.) all influecing each other subtly by the need to react to each other but in this case you had this evolution happening gradually without the previous being completely discarded.

So you have river spirits, sacret trees, elemental monsters, demons,  titan/jötnar like entities, your basic greek style deities,  a big head honcho lord of the universe, concepts of self-enlightenment and pantheist universal unity all coexisting in the same setting.

It’s basically a religion kitchen sink. (and I mean that in a good way, though I get why some may prefer the more ‘streamlined’ ideas of modern Christianity or Islam)

Impressions & Surprising things

Very interesting - because of my familiarity with mythic universals & certain shared cultural roots ( They even have their own wandering handsy thunder god! -  though he’s squarely in the middle of the cosmic hierarchy and seems to be the designated Worf Effect recipient) , I could count down all the tropes and see a lot comming but because of different cultural ideals there were many points where I REALLY didn’t know what was going to happen next

Also, it was a veritable soap opera and I did not expect the feels. The heroes were more adorable than I’d ever have thought. 

The level of “Honor Before Reason” and “Because Destiny Says so” is about comparable to the ancient greeks, but the “humble sinless all-loving hero come to earth for an ardurous mission” might remind one of Jesus, especially in the conception that “The Hero”, in the most archetypical sense, is to be not just badass but moral - though rather, Jesus resembles Ramayana because Ramayana came several centuries first; Just a sign IMHO that there myths come from the human mind and humans everywhere are more similar than different.

Funny thing is, since christian apologetics have this complex to prove how “special” their religion is (I mean it is unique in that no one has the exact same combination of traits but that’s true of every religion and the elements are universal), they spend a lot of time dismantling Islam (often with bonus racism) but usually completely dismiss Hinduism because “Well, they’re polytheists” when the two religions actually have a lot of ideas in common - indeed a lot of beievers will speak of the Hindu Trinity (or their favorite part thereof) or the Mother Godess much like the average dualist or monotheist would talk of their god, like, “O supreme being that dwells in all goodness” etc.

Unlike Jesus (who, despite his popular interpretation,  in the original bible had quite a temper) Rama’s patience & forgiveness is a bit less of an informed ability, though you do get the sense that this comes from a warrior culture as well as a very stratified society where living up to your given social role (including that of a wife) is everything - in a Western work Ram probably would’ve seized the city with the support of the citizens. XD

One could comment that Ram & his brothers are still royalty & that the focus is on that whereas Jesus deliberately took the shape of an ordinary dude, though Ram still gets to spend years as a hermit & Jesus is still convolutedly made to be descended from David - the Jesus myth being the way it is probably has more to do with the political circumstances of its origin (conquest by rome) than the nobler meanings ascribed to it later. 

Another, subtler/ less apparent aspect of the destiny trap thing is that if everyone has their fate, no one can be blamed all too badly. (Deathbed redemptions galore) Nonetheless, as the prover goes, “karma is a bitch” and these people invented it.

That said, tough still a simplistic story (that purtports there’s only one clear universal law everywhere and that the good guys always win - That’s an air castle if there ever was one, we need to work for that) I was actually surprised by the sophistication of morals & politics at times, it went into specific questions (hypocrite accusations, hypocratic oaths, how to charioteer, what a good king should be like etc. )

This is probably an artefact of being written from the PoV of royals & warriors, or just an indication of the great asian civilizations having existed so long & relatively unbroken compared to the many shifts in where things where going on in the nothwest. 

This is the first time in ANY mythical story that I’ve seen anyone raise the concern of preserving the innocent citizens of the enemy faction and how to stabilize the political situation afterwards (after dethroning the local evil overlord, they put in his turncoat brother who joined the good guys for damage control), something that I haven’t seen a SINGLE time in the Bible (and I’ve read the whole thing), though the heroes steer clear of the line to “simplistic stupid good” if you discount the “honor before reason” parts.

There’s 4 ways you can do ‘archetypical’ characters: Wholly & completely stick to the simple archetype, bring the archetype to full circle & detail while milking it for maximum symbolism, “not what they seem/contrast” and giving them depht without having them ever stop to be their archetype - it’s the latter that was done magnificiently here, especially in terms of 3Dimensional antagonists, they have enough redeeming qualities for it all to strike you as a tragic waste of life, but not enough to let go of their pride and avert the divine punishment. 

(The “wicked cultured” Dark Sorceror Evil Overlord being interesting is a given, but of all characters, the cocky big mouthed Demon Prince was the last one I expected to have hidden dephts)

[ohlawsons]

the things that matter.

SUMMARY. Commander Natalie Shepard has a bit of a history with her flight lieutenant, but they've long since worked through any lingering awkwardness. Mostly. When she and Kaidan go on a double date with Joker and his girlfriend, it leaves them all thinking about the past, what-ifs, and all the things that are most important. Inspired by a double date prompt. NOTES. nat belongs to @reagans-ramblings! thank you for letting me write about your beautiful bi shepard i love her so much now with an ao3 link! LINKS. [ AO3 ] [ FFN ]

Thinking back, Joker wasn’t sure exactly whose idea it had been.

Setting up an elaborate double date between three of the galaxy’s busiest people and a woman whose job required her to be virtually impossible to track down was, strictly speaking, a terrible idea. Maybe Cal had suggested it, because she loved social shit like that. Or maybe he had, because social shit like that was a surefire way to convince Cal to take some shore leave on the Citadel. There was a pretty decent chance it had been Kaidan, for no other reason than Joker was more than willing to put some good-natured blame on the major. Hell, it might’ve even been EDI who’d brought it up, and in that case he was just glad he wasn’t on his way to meet her and Sam.

Although, awkward as EDI could be, a double date with her and the comm specialist could potentially be less awkward than a double date with Major Alenko and Commander Shepard — the now very pregnant Commander Shepard, who he’d once dated, and who his current girlfriend was definitely a little bit into.

Yeah, he’d rather take his chances with EDI and Sam.

But then his omni-tool chimed with a message from Kaidan saying they were running a few minutes late, and Joker typed up a reply that Cal was still MIA, and it was officially too late to back out. He fidgeted with his suit — again; it was only at the insistence of both Cal and Kaidan that he’d even agreed to wear it in the first place — and opened a vid call to Cal. “Any chance you’re still in another system? Running tragically late and we’ll have to miss dinner?”

She laughed. “Just landed, unfortunately. I’m on my way over.”

“Alright. See you then.” Not leaving the crew quarters just yet, Joker glanced reflexively over to where EDI’s display had once been. “EDI, let me know when Cal gets here.”

“Of course, Jeff. I can also alert the Commander with an updated estimation of your arrival, if you’d like.”

He groaned in response.

Fortunately for Joker, the Normandy was blissfully empty given that they were finally getting a rare bit of shore leave. Adams was still down in engineering, and he was pretty sure Tali and Traynor were both around somewhere, but with EDI’s help it had been easy enough to avoid them all evening. This whole ordeal — dressing up and looking presentable and going out to a fancy restaurant — was certainly not high on his list of ways he typically preferred to spend his time on the Citadel, and the last thing he wanted was to have to deal with comments from the rest of the crew.

But by the time he’d met Cal down in the CIC, he’d almost changed his mind about dressing up and going out; her short hair was combed back into its usual style, and she wore simple heels and a fitted suit with a black jacket and a crisp white shirt left partially unbuttoned, and she was quite possibly the best damned thing he’d seen since the start of the war. Or ever.

Joker pointed to her shirt. “You missed one,” he said, clearing his throat as he tried to find his voice.

“I prefer to think of it as giving you a head start, you know, for later, but I can always—” Cal moved to fasten another of the buttons, and he quickly retracted his statement.

“Actually, on second thought, it looks great.” He paused, not bothering to hide how his eyes roamed across her figure. “You look great,” he added, voice filled with sincerity, and emphasized the statement with a kiss, just a light brush of his lips against Cal’s.

“I look fucking fantastic,” she shot back, stealing a quick kiss of her own, “and you’re not so bad yourself. But I was promised dinner, and company that I haven’t spent the last four months with.”

He took her hand as she led him out through the main airlock and towards the skycar she’d brought. “Is it that bad?” Joker frowned; Alliance special ops weren’t easy during the best of times, but with the war, Cal’s N7 training had been pushed to the limits. He knew it had been draining her, but the level of exhaustion in her voice was still unexpected.

She gave little more than a shrug in answer, climbing into the skycar and not surrendering Joker’s hand even as she keyed in the location of the restaurant. “War sucks and everything’s classified.” Despite her words, Cal launched into a vague explanation of her most recent mission, detailing the soldiers she’d lost and the relative lack of success they’d had against the reapers. Joker chimed in where he could, adding sarcasm or supportive comments as needed., and Cal’s mood had nearly lifted by the time they reached the restaurant.

They were the first ones there, and a quick message to Kaidan confirmed that it wouldn’t be a long wait. The reservation was under Natalie’s name, and apparently being Commander Shepard meant no waiting in lines, because Joker and Cal were almost immediately led to a relatively secluded table near the back. The second couple joined them before they’d even ordered drinks, and Joker wasn’t sure whether he or Cal was being more obvious about their staring; he’d long since accepted that Kaidan would always manage to look unfairly handsome — and it didn’t hurt that his suit actually looked like it fit — but it had been a long time since he’d seen Nat out of uniform and she was practically glowing, with her hair pulled up into an elegant bun and the contrast of the deep green of her dress against her warm brown skin.

“Calliope Olson.” Cal stood, just a bit too quickly, and held out a hand first to Kaidan, then to Nat. “Joker talks about you all the time.”

Nat raised one perfectly arched eyebrow as she sat across from Cal. “Does he?”

It had been years since they were together — they were just kids on Arcturus, back then — but damn if it wasn’t suddenly very, very awkward. Repressing the sudden urge to get up and head straight for the bar, Joker shrugged. “What can I say? Cal’s a longtime fan of yours, and I aim to please.” Cal snorted at that, and Nat gave her a pointed, knowing stare; the urge to leave grew, and was accompanied by a rush of heat to his face.

“No, he’s right,” Cal admitted as she recovered from her laughter. “I’ve been following your career since Elysium. You caught my eye after Eden Prime,” she continued, turning towards Kaidan. “The only biotic originally on board, and with the woman who would become the first human Spectre? Of course I was interested.”

The two shared a sidelong glance; Kaidan looked a bit overwhelmed, but Nat seemed to be thoroughly unimpressed. She got recognized far too often for Cal to even phase her. Joker, who was fairly certain that his attempt to disappear into his chair was not working, was nearly prepared to intervene — as much as he loved how excitable Cal could be about everything from Nat to sniper rifles to wheat fields, this was not a good time — but was saved by a waiter bringing their drinks. The conversation lulled, and after a moment Kaidan set down his whiskey and cleared his throat. “So, Calliope, how’d the two of you meet?”

“He doesn’t shut up about you,” Nat interjected, sipping at her water, “but none of us ever really paid attention. ‘I’ve got a girlfriend, she’s just involved with top secret Alliance missions and she’s really hard to get a hold of’ isn’t exactly the most credible story.”

“Just Cal. And well, it was… actually…” She trailed off, giving Joker a look that clearly said help; it was never easy to bring up the two years Nat had been gone, especially for those who hadn’t actually discussed it with her before.

“It was while I was grounded,” he offered, knowing Nat would catch his meaning. “We were at a bar, she asked me to dance, I told her I didn’t feel like breaking a femur.” He shrugged. “Typical meet-cute. You know.”

If Kaidan was shaken by the mention of Nat’s death, he didn’t show it. “Somehow, I don’t have too hard of a time imagining that,” he said dryly, not quite rolling his eyes.

“What about you?” Cal asked, pausing to take a drink of whatever bright pink concoction she’d ordered. “How’d the two of you meet?”

Nat gave a flat, “My father,” at the same time that Kaidan said, “A tech issue.” They both laughed, and Nat explained, “My dad handpicked the original Normandy crew. He chose Kaidan specifically for his biotics, and Joker specifically to piss me off,” she added with a mock glare in his direction. “But actually met face to face? That… yeah, I guess that’s what it was. I had an issue with my omni-tool and Kaidan helped me work it out.”

“That’s so much better than ‘we saved the galaxy and they hooked up.’” Cal emphasized the words with air quotes, tossing a teasing grin in Joker’s direction.

“In my defense, I did try my best to stay out of their way.”

With dinner out of the way — which, if Kaidan were being honest, hadn’t gone as badly as he’d feared it might — the four of them began walking back towards Nat’s apartment. It wasn’t far, and the streets were quiet enough that there wasn’t a need to get a cab. They were in no particular hurry to get back, and Kaidan walked with an arm around Nat’s waist as they made their way through the Strip.

The bright spot of the evening, he thought, had been getting to spend so much time talking and reminiscing about their time on the SR-1, before things had gotten so damn complicated. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as it were.

He watched as Cal and Joker walked a ways in front of them, hand in hand, laughter occasionally ringing out into the night. Kaidan had known that Nat and Joker had been together, before, but their double date had piqued his curiosity — less about the two of them, and more about Natalie, and how she’d been when she was younger. He wondered if she’d laughed more, back on Arcturus, back before she’d fought her way to hell and back and returned triumphant. Before life had hardened her, before all the scars that he knew so well — the ones he’d once learned and re-learned, after Alchera, and the cybernetics from Cerberus that still sometimes flared up.

Kaidan wouldn’t ever give up the woman Nat had become, but sometimes he still wondered.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Nat observed with a tilt of her head, eyes searching his face.

“Just thinking,” he assured her.

“About?”

“You.” He leaned over to place a light kiss on her forehead, right above her eyebrow, where he knew the bright lights of the Strip hid the soft glow of her cybernetics.

Nat gave a quiet laugh. “You’ve already got me, Kaidan, you don’t have to butter me up.”

“Mm. Let me enjoy it.” He fell silent for a moment, attempting to collect his thoughts; in front of them, Cal stripped off her jacket and tossed it at Joker, following it up with a less-than-subtle innuendo and laughter at his half-hearted protests. She wobbled a bit as she slid out of her heels, tucking them under one arm and falling back into stride with Joker. “It’s just— Do you remember being that… carefree, I guess?”

“No.” Her answer was automatic and unhesitant, but after a few moments she amended, “More than now, maybe, but never entirely. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone without some sort of weight on my shoulders.”

Kaidan’s only response was a thoughtful hmm as he considered all the things that had weighed her down over the years — himself included. He was under no illusion that the state of the galaxy was in any way his fault, but things could’ve perhaps been different if he’d been the one to receive the vision from the beacon on Eden Prime, all those years ago, instead of Nat stepping in because she’d wanted to save him.

But maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it would always be complicated, and what mattered was being at Nat’s side when those complications arose.