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Rat-Queen to Street-Rat (Closed, Backdated)
Who| Shepard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
earthborn) and Rat (saveswithsong)
What| A swift drop with an abrupt stop, from the mezzanine to the ground floor
Where| the Mezzaine balconies, briefly, and then the first floor lobby.
When| Approximately Wednesday, perhaps earlier, week five.
Warnings/Notes| Crush Injuries, cursing
She was not in the habit of losing people. It happened, of course, that was just the way life was in the Alliance. You made friends and they were moved to new posts, and you didn't see them until years had passed and they were no longer really friends. Or, they were removed from their posts in a more final way, and you never saw them at all.
It was war. It was life. Shit happens.
Garrus Vakarian was not supposed to die. Thane was...well, she'd expected that. Should have expected to lose them, really. But all the same, it still hit her gut like a Krogan brew, roiling and hot, heavy, but growing lighter as it leeched into her blood stream and tried to kill her. She wasn't so easily subdued. But she was angry, stalking among the displays like a prowling Varren, and just the same she was on the hunt. Somewhere in this damn bloody paradise there still stood forty-one warm bodies between her and her goal. She would have liked to make them a run a bit colder.
earthborn) and Rat (saveswithsong)What| A swift drop with an abrupt stop, from the mezzanine to the ground floor
Where| the Mezzaine balconies, briefly, and then the first floor lobby.
When| Approximately Wednesday, perhaps earlier, week five.
Warnings/Notes| Crush Injuries, cursing
She was not in the habit of losing people. It happened, of course, that was just the way life was in the Alliance. You made friends and they were moved to new posts, and you didn't see them until years had passed and they were no longer really friends. Or, they were removed from their posts in a more final way, and you never saw them at all.
It was war. It was life. Shit happens.
Garrus Vakarian was not supposed to die. Thane was...well, she'd expected that. Should have expected to lose them, really. But all the same, it still hit her gut like a Krogan brew, roiling and hot, heavy, but growing lighter as it leeched into her blood stream and tried to kill her. She wasn't so easily subdued. But she was angry, stalking among the displays like a prowling Varren, and just the same she was on the hunt. Somewhere in this damn bloody paradise there still stood forty-one warm bodies between her and her goal. She would have liked to make them a run a bit colder.
It's flawless. It is what we came here for, after all!
He cried out on the first impact, cracking ribs and folding an arm under him in a direction it hadn't been designed to go. His vision swam, and on the second blow he crumpled like a doll. He was still alive though. His breathing ragged and painful, his body shaking with pain. He knew he was going to die here. He'd pushed it too far. Picked the wrong fight.
But he wasn't about to just give it up. He slowly shifted, as though he were trying to get back on his feet. He wasn't going to die in a heap.
no subject
She wanted him to fight. When Shepard lifted her arm and lifted him like a ragdoll in a loose, shearing arc over her head towards the balcony, she wanted to see him writhe. When she made a fist and jerked it forward, the mnemonic of a shadow-punch that forced a minor singularity to briefly avert gravitational forces laterally, she wanted him to know it.
To feel the sudden, dizzy weightlessness as he arced gracefully from mezzanine to the first floor and land with a slide and a crunch against the brassy feet of this fine nation's boldest president. His blood painted a ragged stripe across the floor, and Rat's landing was not gentle— it has a sound, wet and faintly crunchy, and for a moment, Shepard stood with one foot on the balcony railing, looking for movement, listening for breath or a groan.