[ problem. no, two problems. first: mordin is now positive that ariel officials are monitoring their—activities via chip. no other explanation for apparently deeming the Mystery Package Weekend That No One Wants To Talk About a resounding success. enough success that, problem two: normandy crew has increasingly been targeted with various aphrodisiac chemicals in the last several weeks. at this point, mordin is sure it cannot be just him. entire house on edge, agitated, hungry.
mordin is not an exception, no. in fact, he suspects at times that the misfortune befalling the crew could be collateral damage wrought from an invisible campaign to drug him into compliance. he hates it, finds it asinine and ethically twisted, but he hates the idea of reeducation much more. unfortunately, his pride keeps him holding out each time until he's hanging on by a thread, a brilliant mind reduced to rubble, consumed by thoughts of fucking. of biological imperative, endorphins, hormones, misuse of orifices, stretch and pound and wet.
he'd probably slap himself if he thought it would do any good. it won't, though. he knows what will.
he's grateful garrus and thane are housed separately. he doesn't bother to knock. he feels like he's being burned from the inside out and there's really no time left for tact. ]
[Garrus is mid-groan, mid-thrust, even, as the door is shoved open. His first thought is relief that it's not Wrex. He'd never hear the end of it. But then his brain fires a spark or two and his initial embarrassment - he's naked with his partner pushed against a table, after all - transforms into something a bit more complex. Need. If there's need... it's the chip. And he had offered, had meant it, and Garrus gets the beginnings of a handle on himself as he pulls out, hand resting on Thane's lower back.]
Uh. Right. Yeah.
[Except Thane's here, and to leave him like this would be nothing short of horrible. He takes a breath, looking between his lover and the scientist and trying to figure out if the idea he's got forming is going to blow up in his face. Garrus looks at Thane, a little nervous.]
Do we... We can't...
[Can't leave an ally to the city. Can't risk Mordin's brain being messed with more. This is crew.]
[Thane had heard it all too, and knew he had been heard ... the collision of his body on the table, snap of plating against flesh and bone, the gutteral noises that had mingled with Garrus' broken voice. He should feel some semblence of shame, but he's still reeling a bit, left empty.
Then it dawns on him that someone--Mordin Solus, the voice had been immediately stark and obvious--is here, asking for help. Thane, too, is not one to turn his back on a comrade. He understands. Just as he understands the confusion in his loved one's face, caught between leaving their intimacy unbroken and helping a friend in need, trapped. Rising to his feet, Thane's muscles tense slightly at the lingering soreness that remains in him, a delicious sensation that leaves him still aching in other ways. He presses a reassuring kiss against Garrus' scarred mandible before turning his attention toward their impromptu guest.]
Dr. Solus.
[In spite of the odd situation, his tone is polite -- if a little more husky and breathier than normal.]
... We're here for you.
[Whether or not Garrus is right behind him, Thane approaches, still wholly bared and not letting any shame cloud his judgement.]
[ distressingly spontaneous under any other circumstance. mordin reminds himself that the sliver of his rational mind that wants to find this awkward is unneeded, technically—he and garrus have done this before. he and thane have done this before, supposedly, even if all he has to remember it by is a sheaf of sheepishly technical notes scribbled unmistakably in his hand.
garrus is all there, unplated fully and blushing deep blue, and it's a daunting reminder of the state he's in that mordin cannot consider his body with quite the same detached acceptance he is supposed to consider exposed bodies, even fully, impressively erect ones that promise a challenge verging deliciously on the edge of pain. and thane... all the observations tumble through mordin's skull just as he expects them to, all the various clinical signs of drell, male, state of heightened sexual arousal: darkening of frills, slightly fanned, scales reflecting the light (recent shed?); eversion and erection of penis, barbed, thick, glistening. cloacal opening undoubtedly wet with assistive lubricant. flushed and sore with abuse.
or not so clinical. mordin thinks he can feel heat prickling at his temples, probably touching the tip of his good horn with mossy green, and momentarily looks away. ]
...Ah. Offer appreciated, but— [ less a sniff than remembering suddenly to breathe. ] didn't mean to interrupt. Could return later.
[ he says, but he's actually taken a few steps closer. prolonged arousal becoming extremely detrimental to morale. uncomfortably aware of wetness between thighs. should probably be thankful he's not leaving a trail, to be crass.
[The laugh from Garrus isn't directed at Mordin, but at the doctor's words.]
You think you're out of your depth...
[Thane is gorgeous, standing there, clearly inviting Mordin to join them, with gleam of lube on the back of his thighs. Garrus could almost forget that someone else is here and push Thane against the wall to continue. Almost. This might wind up being a little awkward, but Garrus is turned on anyway, and he did offer help. If Solus is asking for it, then it's a need.
He swallows before taking a step forward as well, trying to ignore how exposed he is.]
You're here, Doc.
[Back in touching distance of Thane, Garrus can't resist trailing his fingers over his lover's hipbone. But now he's in range of Solus too. There's a beat before he slowly reaches up and traces his thumb along Mordin's remaining horn.]
[They're not the only ones -- though Thane doesn't comment as such. Mordin is someone for whom he holds a great deal of respect. He wants to treat him as such, not as some plaything that's just been dumped on their doorstep. Yet with the urgency in Mordin's voice upon initial arrival, it is likely that the renowned salarian doctor is hardly thinking anything that runs along the lines of being polite and respectable.
Which only fuels Thane, personally.
Lifting a hand and tracing it along that horn, his fingertips brush against Garrus' talons there before ghosting along Mordin's weathered face. His other hand slips past the doctor's labcoat, feeling the warmth emanating from his body. Thane is the only one out of the three of them whose body doesn't regulate its temperature on its own, impressionable blood and cells that still hold the heat from his partner's form.]
You haven't interrupted.
[There's deliberation to that choice of words: he hasn't interrupted, because they're not ceasing.]
[ mordin does not—does not—shiver at the twin touches. they hit him like dousing water on a fire. at first. salarians don't normally make the sound he makes at that moment, this throaty frustrated thing, neither purr nor growl but strangely rumbling regardless.
thane krios with his hand so close to the vulnerable dip where a human or asari sternum would be, or the sharp jut of a turian's carapace. thane krios, who could kill him right now so easily, pulverize his heart with a perfect blow. this shouldn't excite him as much as it does, nor should he be wondering if garrus is looking at these scars and stump of a horn with interest, but you don't spend your life studying the bodies and minds of other species without thinking of things like this eventually.
except, well, you do. if you're salarian. just not now.
mordin laughs, a clipped, high sound that may be tinged with just the slightest amount of hysteria. he feels drugged. he is drugged. so are they. probably. ]
Yes. Need, need, yes. [ he breathes again, sharp through his nose. ] Apologies. Never would've predicted this turn of events before Ariel. Refreshing to be surprised for once, actually. Don't need to inquire how you were faring before this; course of events obvious—logical use of positioning, practical! Developed resistance to Thane, toxin? Hm, feasible with repeated gradual exposure. Could have opposite effect as well; enhanced immune response, allergy, more articulated symptoms? Not sure, would have to test. Longitudinal study? Knowingly exposing subjects to drell venom possibly difficult to navigate but informed consent... tricky—
[ yo he is straight up babbling at this point, all right. he's also started fidgeting under their touch and, ultimately, begins pointedly considering the sheen of moisture over the end of thane's dick. his heart is hammering under thane's hand, intact horn a peculiar bruise-green under garrus's.
[Despite the situation, Garrus chuckles again before gently placing a finger over Mordin's lips in a universal 'shhhh' gesture.]
Easy, Doc. Easy. And I'd prefer it if you don't start lining people up to expose to Thane, yeah?
[Obviously it's Thane's choice, but Garrus would really, really prefer other people be used for the sake of safety instead of a regular, observed experiment. Then again, this isn't the time, really.
Slowly Garrus trails the tips of his talons down that horn and along the side of Solus' face. Then both hands drop to underneath the salarian's chin, tilting it up so Garrus can kiss him. It seems to do things for most people, might as well try it now. This also means that he's shifting closer to Mordin, hip-spur coming in contact with Mordin's side.
A moment later one hand leaves Mordin to blindly search for Thane, finding the drell's underbelly. Garrus traces his talons over that, too, before gliding careful fingertips along the slick, hard shaft.]
[Thane tilts his head slightly as Mordin launches into another round of his tendency to think out loud -- fast, practically an explosion of thoughts. Most of them centered on him. Are they truly observations, or had he and Garrus gotten the respectable doctor all flustered? ...Perhaps some of both, he reasons to himself, and doesn't draw his hand away. The natural toxins in his skin have been a burden in many ways, but they've also been... somewhat entertaining, to say the least. Particularly where Garrus is concerned.
Of course, his mind roams to wonder what effect it'd have on a salarian-- if any. But Thane can't exactly picture Mordin the type to run his tongue over those scales, or slide down even lower... much like the way Garrus' hand is doing, now. The drell's black lids flutter over his eyes, brief, hips shifting partially toward that touch and partially just... to be near them both, whatever contact is necessary. It's a sight he finds he enjoys, amused and endeared, as Garrus' mouthplates press and nuzzle against Mordin's face. He leans in to press another kiss to the turian's mandible, still drawing his hand over the unique shape of Mordin's form beneath his labcoat, how long and thin salarians tend to be. Thane knows he is the shortest in the room right now.]
Drell venom does have an effect on humans and turians alike, yes.
[His voice is a deep thrum in his throat, lower and richer with a hunger that he doesn't even bother trying to conceal. Nothing about this situation merits that, by a long shot.]
[ Mordin hesitates and then steps closer into the strange triangle they've begun to form, mind visibly working even through the haze that's settled over his senses, Thane's hand indescribably and alarmingly good against the hollow of his chest and suddenly much too hot.
It's rather tornado-like, the haste with which Mordin strips, as if he has to go fast enough that his thoughts won't be able to catch up, chattering right along as he does. ]
Yes. Of course. Wouldn't actually— [ He swallows. Takes a breath. ] Skin of salarians highly permeable, potential for exposure via simple contact. No idea how neurochemicals from chip will interact.
[ And then somehow his hand has dipped down to brush clumsily over Garrus's before joining it over Thane's cock, observing its weight and slickness, the way it hungrily soaks up the heat of their combined six fingers. ]
...One way to find out.
[ His undergarments cling to him from hip to sinuous mid-thigh, dark enough to obscure the steady swelling between them and the moisture that has long since started to slick the crotch, wanting to part, drip freely, come. It's an old refrain, if infrequent, but it's never felt quite this desperate. Mordin should hate this feeling, base instinct overriding his intellect, his restraint, his pride, but the thought is crowded out by the oppressive curious desire to feel one or both of these alien appendages precisely where they aren't meant to be, stretching him open, stuffing his neglected hole. Would be a challenge, would probably involve at least moderate pain, but probably could take both, could probably—
Mordin's pupils are giant inky ovals at this point; he breathes something that doesn't translate. ]
[At the end of the day, she still doesn't know what Cerberus' angle really is. All Shepard knows is that she can't trust them. She stares at her face in the mirror of her quarters, listening to a report from Garrus about the newest variety bugs he'd found on the ship, looking at the scars are quickly losing their glow, and realizes she doesn't know enough about what's been done to her. There could be all sorts of... Shepard doesn't even know, but she remembers every Cerberus base they took out on the first Normandy.
But how does she even start to figure it out? Karen's onboard, and a good friend, but sometimes Shepard wonders if she'd pad the truth out of that same friendship. Not only that, but Chakwas is working with Cerberus tech. The other doctor on board brought his own equipment, and Shepard really can't see him misleading someone to be comforting. That's that, then.
Decision made, Shepard heads down to Dr. Solus' lab. Not like it had been a difficult decision, either. She likes the salarian's company, even if she sometimes wonders if he pauses for breath enough.]
[ mordin turns, having just placed his coffee cup in some sort of full-body scanner. that's what it looks like, anyway, though he's probably just reheating whatever's in there. probably. he visibly brightens at the sight of her—a sure sign that he's not too busy to talk.
doctor chakwas can't be blamed if she's in no position to handle more patients, anyhow. she's been through a great deal lately—they all have. surviving a suicide mission is unprecedented, after all, to say nothing of the numerous injuries the entire squad has sustained in the bargain.
and now, the normandy and its crew have officially gone rogue. until they return to alliance space or call in a few favors from aria, the resources they have are the resources they get.
mordin's actually quite chipper, given the circumstances, if a little bored. glad to still be alive, mostly. amusing himself with the shipwide cerberus bug scavenger hunt at present. ]
Ah, Shepard! Not busy at all; just exposing remaining surveillance devices discovered in lab to high levels of elecromagnetism.
[ a gesture to the cup. not coffee at all, apparently. ]
Unrecoverable this way. Wanted to be sure. [ he breathes. just for her. ] How can I help?
[Honestly, with a scientist like Mordin, Shepard wouldn't have been too surprised if he had accidentally stuck a cup of coffee in one of his machines. Or many. She could easily overlook a few eccentricities for what he brought to the table.]
It was something similar I wanted to talk to you about. We don't know what all Cerberus has put in the systems of my ship. We also don't know what all they've put in my systems.
[She raises a hand.]
I know, I could ask Miranda. But I've gotten a lot of runaround from her on the topic already, and I'd prefer answers from someone who isn't so directly paid by the Illusive man.
[They're all in his employ. But Shepard knows none of the non-humans on the ship are here for Cerberus' sake. Miranda's definitely been earning Shepard's trust, Shepard is glad to have her on board, but this is still something she's not sure she'd get all the details on. And despite the difference of their opinions on the genophage, Shepard trusts herself in Solus' hands. So here she is.
And here she is appreciating that he's taking the effort to breathe. There may be a small-yet-growing betting pool on whether or not Mordin will ever talk so much he ever passes out. She tried to discourage it. But she can't deny the amusement the thought brings, or the likelihood of Samara being the winner.]
If it wouldn't interrupt your other projects, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind seeing if you could find anything... off.
[Because poking around a living person who had been dead is entirely normal.]
Not a problem. Understandable concern; consider possibility of devices, bugs planted without knowledge of anyone aboard ship. Keep finding them elsewhere. Miranda [ sniff. ] unaware. No reason to deceive at this point. Probable that Illusive Man took extra precautions.
[ He pauses in his various millings around to really look at Shepard, as if he were capable of scanning her with his eyes alone. ]
Happy to help. Still—should clarify, for sake of propriety: how... thorough?
[That's the question, isn't it. Except it's not that hard. What she needs is rather clear.]
Completely. If they've got anything extraneous in me, watching me, I need to know. And I need it removed if it's physically possible.
[He's beyond competent. Shepard has no doubt that if something's amiss, Mordin can find and fix it. There's also something about his hands and his eyes... and Shepard clamps down on that thought. There is a clear, legitimate reason she's speaking with him instead of Chakwas, and it's not simply because she finds Mordin appealing. He is, though. Professional, capable, handy with a pitchfork of all things, brilliant - he's everything Shepard looks for and more and it's been some time. That being thought, he's still a member of her crew and she's here as a patient. The last thing she wants to do is alienate someone she respects.]
Is now a good time?
[Because she can keep a hold of herself, and now is a rare free moment without the Illusive Man pestering her or Hackett wondering if she could check something out for him.]
Frankly, the sooner I get everything checked out, the better. I should know what's going on under my own hood.
[ Mordin does a really good job not raising a brow, since he's a doctor and not raising a brow at things is an important professional skill. There's no conflict here that he can think of, however—his gentle rejection of what he'd apparently misinterpreted as her sexual interest in him had been met with amused acceptance at the time—and Karin has her hands more than full and it's likely Shepard knows it. Never mind that he hasn't actually examined a human so intimately since his residency. But salarians don't forget.
There is a very brief moment where he contemplates asking whether she'd be more comfortable doing this in her quarters instead of the lab, but he dismisses it just as quickly. Needless suggestion. Also somewhat inappropriate. Not sure why he even thought of it. ]
Now as good a time as any. EDI, some privacy, please?
[ Certainly, Doctor Solus, the room reverberates in reply, followed by the soft electronic chirp of the locks shifting from green to red. ]
Need to prepare. Strip to undergarments, if you would.
[ She's a soldier. They're aliens to one another. There's no cause for hesitation; this is protocol.
He steps over to the smaller exam table opposite the one he seems to live behind and pulls it back from the wall so he's capable of approaching from all angles, the swift glow of a decontamination grid sweeping over its surface. Not that he thinks Shepard is at all prone to shyness, but turning his back is simply a matter of courtesy. He busies himself longer than he would normally with adjusting instruments, pulling equipment out of the way (at the foot of the table, a hint of what's ahead), mostly for her benefit. After a moment, he speaks again: ]
Truthfully, was tempted to suggest something similar. Have found numerous Cerberus devices aboard ship undetectable through scanning. Have been working on developing targeted scan, but no luck so far. Tech unfamiliar, highly advanced. Not unlike Collectors'. Implications... [ a breath. ] unsettling.
[ Finally he straightens, not looking over, but he tilts his head toward her enough that his good horn curves in her direction. ]
[She's stripped down in front of any number of soldiers and doctors, mechanical every time because the situation required changing or less clothing. It's no different now. Scans aren't picking everything up, which means they need to try a new approach just in case.
Her clothing gets pulled off and folded precisely off to the side just the way her bed gets made precisely every morning. What all Cerberus has done to her body is still an unknown, but Shepard knows herself and her habits. Though normally her habits don't have business edging this close to pleasure. Mordin is a professional. She can be just as professional. After all, he'd already turned her down. The question of how his skin would feel against hers is entirely inappropriate... and lingering despite that.]
They built the ship and consider it an investment, same with me. It follows that they'd want to keep track of as much as they can.
[She walks over and takes a seat, giving him a smile.]
So let's thwart them whenever possible.
[And she knows full well that it's a cause every non-human and several of the humans on board this ship can get behind. The Collectors need to be dealt with, but on her terms. Cerberus shouldn't profit here. She has no objections to her team profiting, though, and maybe whatever tech they've got in her could give Mordin something else to fiddle with as well. That thought widens the smile.]
If you're sure you're ready for me. A few people have said that before.
[She's fond of him, and she teases the people she's fond of.]
Well. To say he doesn't is a mild falsehood, but technically it has nothing to do with humans themselves. There is no xenophilic curiosity here, to speak of. On Mordin's end, at least. He has his suspicions about Shepard, who has always seemed a little too fascinated with the other Council races. It's true that human females differ little from asari, though more variable in shape—features small but elegant, bodies a collection of gently sloping curves, skin a little softer, a little warmer, fuzzed all over with a fine dusting of tiny hairs.
And it's true that Mordin has been... amenable to the advances of asari in the past. Humans themselves (the females, mostly, according to Mordin's subjective assessment) are aesthetically pleasing, on occasion. But that isn't it, either. Shepard lacks the limber grace of most asari, the vivid colors, the familiar smoothness. But she has something. Something that amounts to more than difference in species, even though he's fairly certain that she would be considered quite attractive by human standards.
He couldn't bring himself to respond to what he thought were her advances before. Too great a risk of interfering with mission. Shepard herself a less known quantity at the time. Too old. At this point in his life, ill-equipped for... complication.
But so, if he's honest with himself, he's not particularly interested in trying human, no. But he might be interested in trying Shepard. ]
Yes, yes. Sure you made short work of them.
[ It's a somewhat dismissive deflection of what he thinks might be flirtation on her part, but he isn't sure, so he chooses not to make assumptions. Humor often a tool to ease discomfort when feeling inordinately exposed. Also, he can feel himself settling into a comfortable frame of mind: the doctor, the scientist, eager to discover and solve.
He considers her there in her bra and underwear, fingers on chin (which are bare now, long and thin and dusky orange as the rest of him), his attention giving no more weight to her breasts or hips than it would her elbow. ]
Think it best to start with examination for subdermal implant, focus inward from there.
[ You know, like he's not talking about poking around her most intimate of areas. He steps around behind her, still studying her, visibly thinking the whole way along. ]
Lean forward? Primary concern base of skull, along vertebral column. Biotech most likely to be placed there; leech power from body's own electrical impulses.
[ It is with pleasant dispassion that he brushes the hair off her nape. With that done he can begin his work, fingers warmer than a human's settling high past her hairline and sliding down toward her C7 vertebra in a series of slow scanning stripes across the width of her neck. ]
[And there's the Mordin that she knows all too well, clearing a side-topic from the discussion to get right to the point of matters. She's smiling more now, relaxed despite the way he's looking over her. Shepard knows what he sees. A puzzle, something to solve.
It would make things easier if she could look at it so clearly. If she were to focus, she probably could. But it's been a long time since she's indulged herself in anything close to fantasy. There isn't harm in enjoying his touch. It's medically necessary. Tactically, pragmatically. She didn't come here to indulge herself but to make them safer from Cerberus.
And so, as his warm, so-long fingers move her hair and start to touch, Shepard feels a little warmer herself.]
That makes sense. It'd be harder to detect something next to other hardware.
[And the last thing most people would be surprised by was something special about her biotic implant, seeing as Cerberus liked to experiment.]
And putting something along the spinal column might make it harder to remove.
[Distancing herself from the situation helps. His fingers are gentle and she knows how much experience he has with bodies and the way they work. He would have to be a masterful lover, and now she's no longer as distanced as she'd been trying for. Maybe it would be better if he was less gentle, but that thought's dismissed fairly quickly. He wouldn't be him, then, and she wouldn't have this struggle in the first place.
Her fingers drum on her thighs as she tries not to think about 'inward' and what is coming. Even if he finds something in her neck that doesn't preclude the possibility of other devices. Realizing what she's doing, Shepard stills her hands. If at any point he seems uncomfortable, she'll call this off. He's completely capable of doing so too, but she doesn't want to push. He has no interest here. He's said as much. She won't cross that line.]
Too bad sticking me in that thing would probably fry it and me both.
[She indicates the device he'd stuck the coffee cup in. That would have made this a lot simpler for him.]
But I prefer not to fry, and any good scientist wouldn't want their equipment damaged, so that's off the table.
[Garrus holds an arm to his side as he slipped through the corridors of the station. Omnigel took care of a lot, but he's pretty sure there's some deeper damage there. And, unfortunately, it's not like he's got Chakwas nearby to give him a hand. If she even made it off the ship.
He stops to push back a pain that's not related to stray gunfire. The ship's gone. A lot's gone. He's making what difference he can here. And speaking of here, there is a doctor he's heard about. Supposed to be good with xenobiology.
After several minutes, as the pain's spread and Garrus has had to pause to keep his head down near a few merc groups, he finds his way into the clinic and slowly sinks into a seat. Fuck, that hurts. Lucky shot. Had to happen sometime, because Archangel's not perfect, even with his team nearby. Unfortunately it had to happen the one time they had precise and different exit routes planned, so he's alone as the waiting room slips in and out of focus.]
[ Mordin's been peripherally aware of the turian they call Archangel for some time now—mostly because he's usually one who ends up with various mercs bleeding and beating down his door. Unfortunately for them, Mordin's long left the business of playing nice, and at this point he's made it perfectly, dangerously clear that he will not be intimidated into compliance. Suffice it to say that Mordin's become a fan of Archangel's work. Enough of a fan, in fact, that small portions of the last months' stock of medi-gel have been known to find their way into his team's hands.
So it was probably only a matter of time before Archangel himself found his way here. Friendly territory.
As soon as one of his aides shows the bleeding turian into his exam room, he knows. Tells Daniel to attend to the next few patients—it's late in Omega's manufactured night cycle, which usually means a merciful lull—and seals the door behind him. ]
Remove armor, take seat quickly. Heard gunfire nearby; Tempest-type, five-round burst. Guessing Eclipse. Marked increase in activity lately, suspect change in leadership structure. Direct hit? [ A pause for breath. ] Did the bullet pass through?
[He's trying to grasp a train of thought as the salarian talks, and talks, and talks. That's a lot of words, all in a rush. And then he realizes that the direct hit question is about him and not what he's done to Eclipse, and that makes everything make more sense.
Garrus unfastens the seals of his armor, getting it off to the side with a quickly cut-off hiss of pain and taking a seat as instructed.]
Yeah. Lucky shot, direct, pretty certain it's clean through.
[After all, something wet was on his back and turians didn't sweat much at all.]
Shouldn't be too serious. It's just beyond what I can treat. And it hurts like hell.
[His gaze lingers on the sealed door for a moment before switching back to the salarian. The doctor's supposed to be good people. This should be worth the risk. There's nothing to suggest he's in danger here.]
[ And he won't be, provided he behaves himself. That's always been the doctor's position. He flits around and behind the turian, keenly analyzing the blue-splotched holes in his carapace, front to back—first with eyes, then with the hum of what is clearly a highly tricked-out omni-tool. Like, this thing is modded to hell even by Omega standards, and not all of those mods are exactly... legal, in the strictest sense of the word. ]
Almost asked if you get shot often; remembered where we are. Everyone gets shot often. Still, surprised to see you here. Reputation precedes you.
[ It's said lightly. Almost casual. A second passes before the familiar cool spread of medi-gel melts over the exit wound. It's a higher grade for deeper wounds and it burns like nothing else while it does its work, but the pain should subside before long. Mordin assumes Archangel is used to a little pain. ]
Good news! No significant organ trauma. Missed kidney by less than a centimeter. Lucky shot indeed, but still discourage future firefights wherever possible. For a while.
[ He moves away after a moment, rifling through a cabinet of meds against the far wall before returning to Garrus with a couple innocuous lavender pills and a coffee mug filled halfway with water. He foists them on him without explanation, since it should be self-explanatory. Bullet wounds are usually uncomfortable, to say the least. ]
[His reputation precedes him. Garrus is quiet aside from a quickly silenced grunt of pain as the burn kicks in, contemplating the salarian's words and actions. Doctor Solus clearly knows who he is. Or, at least, what Garrus is going by on the station. But the salarian's never been an ally of the mercs. He's fended them off, kept them from taking over the clinic or taking out any of his patients, and ushered Garrus back here before anyone else could figure out that it's Archangel who has just stumbled in.
There's a tiny bit of relaxation in Garrus' posture as he processes this info and accepts the pills. It's alright. The salarian knows, and it's still alright. And while the pain's not unbearable, and is even at the edge of something he could certainly go for under other circumstances, Garrus swallows the pills.
The almost-question gets a snort.]
As if we'd let any of them get away. It was slavers again, this time after the runaway population. And the ones that didn't show up to the ambush are gonna be seeking revenge, so I'm not sure how I'm gonna be avoiding fire fights.
[He can't send his people in and not be there with them. They're a team.]
I'll do my best, and I'm glad nothing's seriously messed up, but we're gonna have trouble headed our way in a day or two here. Soon as they get organized.
[And if the mercs were smart, they'd go and get the Blue Suns involved. Some of those slaves had been intended for the Suns. That'd mean more firepower for these remnants, and it could be a more complicated fight. But Garrus' squad would take care of them.]
Keep an eye out for the Suns. They're gonna be on edge here.
[The loss of a few slaves isn't going to really trip up the Suns, but they'd probably be a bit more touchy for a few days.]
What do I--ugh.
[He'd been stupid and hopped back up to his feet as if he'd be fine. Not even Chakwas was ever that fast. Garrus puts a hand out to stabilize himself as the blood loss decides to make itself known again and he blinks back the spots in his vision.]
[ When Archangel swoons, Mordin is on it with a snap of reflexes impressive even from a salarian, shoulder gliding forward to support his not-inconsiderable weight. Even through a glove, he can feel the heat rolling off the turian's body where he's supporting him, palm solid and fingers splayed over the narrowest part of his torso. Turians are like salarians; they run hot, particularly in the wake of deadly firefights.
It's a good thing that Archangel's doing. ]
Bedrest.
[ And he says that with a twist of his lips, like he knows full well that there's nothing he could demand that would be worse. ]
Can expect fever response to injury as it heals. Minor infection due to waiting, hasty application of omni-gel. Have done what I can for now, Should have come immediately after skirmish.
[ Being scolded by a doctor might be humiliating in every culture, who knows. ]
No need to worry about clinic. Safest place to be at present; choke points fortified by armed mechs. If Suns not already aware... [ Sniff. His cheer about it is maybe vaguely macabre. ] Will be.
At any rate, welcome to stay. No, inaccurate. Not welcome. Must insist, actually. As your physician.
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branchandroot
GARRUS + THANE » arielverse
Date: 2014-04-17 01:00 am (UTC)( in which there's a threesome for no reason. )
[ problem. no, two problems. first: mordin is now positive that ariel officials are monitoring their—activities via chip. no other explanation for apparently deeming the Mystery Package Weekend That No One Wants To Talk About a resounding success. enough success that, problem two: normandy crew has increasingly been targeted with various aphrodisiac chemicals in the last several weeks. at this point, mordin is sure it cannot be just him. entire house on edge, agitated, hungry.
mordin is not an exception, no. in fact, he suspects at times that the misfortune befalling the crew could be collateral damage wrought from an invisible campaign to drug him into compliance. he hates it, finds it asinine and ethically twisted, but he hates the idea of reeducation much more. unfortunately, his pride keeps him holding out each time until he's hanging on by a thread, a brilliant mind reduced to rubble, consumed by thoughts of fucking. of biological imperative, endorphins, hormones, misuse of orifices, stretch and pound and wet.
he'd probably slap himself if he thought it would do any good. it won't, though. he knows what will.
he's grateful garrus and thane are housed separately. he doesn't bother to knock. he feels like he's being burned from the inside out and there's really no time left for tact. ]
Garrus. You offered. Need your help. Now.
[ but garrus isn't alone, of course. ]
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Date: 2014-04-17 01:34 am (UTC)Uh. Right. Yeah.
[Except Thane's here, and to leave him like this would be nothing short of horrible. He takes a breath, looking between his lover and the scientist and trying to figure out if the idea he's got forming is going to blow up in his face. Garrus looks at Thane, a little nervous.]
Do we... We can't...
[Can't leave an ally to the city. Can't risk Mordin's brain being messed with more. This is crew.]
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Date: 2014-04-17 02:30 am (UTC)Then it dawns on him that someone--Mordin Solus, the voice had been immediately stark and obvious--is here, asking for help. Thane, too, is not one to turn his back on a comrade. He understands. Just as he understands the confusion in his loved one's face, caught between leaving their intimacy unbroken and helping a friend in need, trapped. Rising to his feet, Thane's muscles tense slightly at the lingering soreness that remains in him, a delicious sensation that leaves him still aching in other ways. He presses a reassuring kiss against Garrus' scarred mandible before turning his attention toward their impromptu guest.]
Dr. Solus.
[In spite of the odd situation, his tone is polite -- if a little more husky and breathier than normal.]
... We're here for you.
[Whether or not Garrus is right behind him, Thane approaches, still wholly bared and not letting any shame cloud his judgement.]
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Date: 2014-04-17 03:59 am (UTC)garrus is all there, unplated fully and blushing deep blue, and it's a daunting reminder of the state he's in that mordin cannot consider his body with quite the same detached acceptance he is supposed to consider exposed bodies, even fully, impressively erect ones that promise a challenge verging deliciously on the edge of pain. and thane... all the observations tumble through mordin's skull just as he expects them to, all the various clinical signs of drell, male, state of heightened sexual arousal: darkening of frills, slightly fanned, scales reflecting the light (recent shed?); eversion and erection of penis, barbed, thick, glistening. cloacal opening undoubtedly wet with assistive lubricant. flushed and sore with abuse.
or not so clinical. mordin thinks he can feel heat prickling at his temples, probably touching the tip of his good horn with mossy green, and momentarily looks away. ]
...Ah. Offer appreciated, but— [ less a sniff than remembering suddenly to breathe. ] didn't mean to interrupt. Could return later.
[ he says, but he's actually taken a few steps closer. prolonged arousal becoming extremely detrimental to morale. uncomfortably aware of wetness between thighs. should probably be thankful he's not leaving a trail, to be crass.
he swallows. speaks unusually slowly. ]
Chance... could be out of my depth.
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Date: 2014-04-17 04:24 am (UTC)You think you're out of your depth...
[Thane is gorgeous, standing there, clearly inviting Mordin to join them, with gleam of lube on the back of his thighs. Garrus could almost forget that someone else is here and push Thane against the wall to continue. Almost. This might wind up being a little awkward, but Garrus is turned on anyway, and he did offer help. If Solus is asking for it, then it's a need.
He swallows before taking a step forward as well, trying to ignore how exposed he is.]
You're here, Doc.
[Back in touching distance of Thane, Garrus can't resist trailing his fingers over his lover's hipbone. But now he's in range of Solus too. There's a beat before he slowly reaches up and traces his thumb along Mordin's remaining horn.]
Said there was a need.
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Date: 2014-04-17 01:48 pm (UTC)Which only fuels Thane, personally.
Lifting a hand and tracing it along that horn, his fingertips brush against Garrus' talons there before ghosting along Mordin's weathered face. His other hand slips past the doctor's labcoat, feeling the warmth emanating from his body. Thane is the only one out of the three of them whose body doesn't regulate its temperature on its own, impressionable blood and cells that still hold the heat from his partner's form.]
You haven't interrupted.
[There's deliberation to that choice of words: he hasn't interrupted, because they're not ceasing.]
i don't know what this is
Date: 2014-04-21 07:23 am (UTC)thane krios with his hand so close to the vulnerable dip where a human or asari sternum would be, or the sharp jut of a turian's carapace. thane krios, who could kill him right now so easily, pulverize his heart with a perfect blow. this shouldn't excite him as much as it does, nor should he be wondering if garrus is looking at these scars and stump of a horn with interest, but you don't spend your life studying the bodies and minds of other species without thinking of things like this eventually.
except, well, you do. if you're salarian. just not now.
mordin laughs, a clipped, high sound that may be tinged with just the slightest amount of hysteria. he feels drugged. he is drugged. so are they. probably. ]
Yes. Need, need, yes. [ he breathes again, sharp through his nose. ] Apologies. Never would've predicted this turn of events before Ariel. Refreshing to be surprised for once, actually. Don't need to inquire how you were faring before this; course of events obvious—logical use of positioning, practical! Developed resistance to Thane, toxin? Hm, feasible with repeated gradual exposure. Could have opposite effect as well; enhanced immune response, allergy, more articulated symptoms? Not sure, would have to test. Longitudinal study? Knowingly exposing subjects to drell venom possibly difficult to navigate but informed consent... tricky—
[ yo he is straight up babbling at this point, all right. he's also started fidgeting under their touch and, ultimately, begins pointedly considering the sheen of moisture over the end of thane's dick. his heart is hammering under thane's hand, intact horn a peculiar bruise-green under garrus's.
there is so much penis really close to him. ]
What, are you asking us?
Date: 2014-04-23 09:56 pm (UTC)Easy, Doc. Easy. And I'd prefer it if you don't start lining people up to expose to Thane, yeah?
[Obviously it's Thane's choice, but Garrus would really, really prefer other people be used for the sake of safety instead of a regular, observed experiment. Then again, this isn't the time, really.
Slowly Garrus trails the tips of his talons down that horn and along the side of Solus' face. Then both hands drop to underneath the salarian's chin, tilting it up so Garrus can kiss him. It seems to do things for most people, might as well try it now. This also means that he's shifting closer to Mordin, hip-spur coming in contact with Mordin's side.
A moment later one hand leaves Mordin to blindly search for Thane, finding the drell's underbelly. Garrus traces his talons over that, too, before gliding careful fingertips along the slick, hard shaft.]
well, there's a lot of alien penis. that's basically it.
Date: 2014-06-03 02:56 am (UTC)Of course, his mind roams to wonder what effect it'd have on a salarian-- if any. But Thane can't exactly picture Mordin the type to run his tongue over those scales, or slide down even lower... much like the way Garrus' hand is doing, now. The drell's black lids flutter over his eyes, brief, hips shifting partially toward that touch and partially just... to be near them both, whatever contact is necessary. It's a sight he finds he enjoys, amused and endeared, as Garrus' mouthplates press and nuzzle against Mordin's face. He leans in to press another kiss to the turian's mandible, still drawing his hand over the unique shape of Mordin's form beneath his labcoat, how long and thin salarians tend to be. Thane knows he is the shortest in the room right now.]
Drell venom does have an effect on humans and turians alike, yes.
[His voice is a deep thrum in his throat, lower and richer with a hunger that he doesn't even bother trying to conceal. Nothing about this situation merits that, by a long shot.]
whispers and it's all for me............
Date: 2014-06-03 04:35 am (UTC)It's rather tornado-like, the haste with which Mordin strips, as if he has to go fast enough that his thoughts won't be able to catch up, chattering right along as he does. ]
Yes. Of course. Wouldn't actually— [ He swallows. Takes a breath. ] Skin of salarians highly permeable, potential for exposure via simple contact. No idea how neurochemicals from chip will interact.
[ And then somehow his hand has dipped down to brush clumsily over Garrus's before joining it over Thane's cock, observing its weight and slickness, the way it hungrily soaks up the heat of their combined six fingers. ]
...One way to find out.
[ His undergarments cling to him from hip to sinuous mid-thigh, dark enough to obscure the steady swelling between them and the moisture that has long since started to slick the crotch, wanting to part, drip freely, come. It's an old refrain, if infrequent, but it's never felt quite this desperate. Mordin should hate this feeling, base instinct overriding his intellect, his restraint, his pride, but the thought is crowded out by the oppressive curious desire to feel one or both of these alien appendages precisely where they aren't meant to be, stretching him open, stuffing his neglected hole. Would be a challenge, would probably involve at least moderate pain, but probably could take both, could probably—
Mordin's pupils are giant inky ovals at this point; he breathes something that doesn't translate. ]
Re: whispers and it's all for me............
From:C=====> (spoiler: it's not an arrow)
From:i wonder what the c stands for
From:hint: it's turian
From:and it doesn't flop
From:I'M SO GLAD
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From:Shepard
Date: 2014-04-30 09:08 pm (UTC)But how does she even start to figure it out? Karen's onboard, and a good friend, but sometimes Shepard wonders if she'd pad the truth out of that same friendship. Not only that, but Chakwas is working with Cerberus tech. The other doctor on board brought his own equipment, and Shepard really can't see him misleading someone to be comforting. That's that, then.
Decision made, Shepard heads down to Dr. Solus' lab. Not like it had been a difficult decision, either. She likes the salarian's company, even if she sometimes wonders if he pauses for breath enough.]
Hey. Are you busy?
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Date: 2014-05-01 07:14 am (UTC)doctor chakwas can't be blamed if she's in no position to handle more patients, anyhow. she's been through a great deal lately—they all have. surviving a suicide mission is unprecedented, after all, to say nothing of the numerous injuries the entire squad has sustained in the bargain.
and now, the normandy and its crew have officially gone rogue. until they return to alliance space or call in a few favors from aria, the resources they have are the resources they get.
mordin's actually quite chipper, given the circumstances, if a little bored. glad to still be alive, mostly. amusing himself with the shipwide cerberus bug scavenger hunt at present. ]
Ah, Shepard! Not busy at all; just exposing remaining surveillance devices discovered in lab to high levels of elecromagnetism.
[ a gesture to the cup. not coffee at all, apparently. ]
Unrecoverable this way. Wanted to be sure. [ he breathes. just for her. ] How can I help?
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Date: 2014-05-01 07:45 am (UTC)[Honestly, with a scientist like Mordin, Shepard wouldn't have been too surprised if he had accidentally stuck a cup of coffee in one of his machines. Or many. She could easily overlook a few eccentricities for what he brought to the table.]
It was something similar I wanted to talk to you about. We don't know what all Cerberus has put in the systems of my ship. We also don't know what all they've put in my systems.
[She raises a hand.]
I know, I could ask Miranda. But I've gotten a lot of runaround from her on the topic already, and I'd prefer answers from someone who isn't so directly paid by the Illusive man.
[They're all in his employ. But Shepard knows none of the non-humans on the ship are here for Cerberus' sake. Miranda's definitely been earning Shepard's trust, Shepard is glad to have her on board, but this is still something she's not sure she'd get all the details on. And despite the difference of their opinions on the genophage, Shepard trusts herself in Solus' hands. So here she is.
And here she is appreciating that he's taking the effort to breathe. There may be a small-yet-growing betting pool on whether or not Mordin will ever talk so much he ever passes out. She tried to discourage it. But she can't deny the amusement the thought brings, or the likelihood of Samara being the winner.]
If it wouldn't interrupt your other projects, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind seeing if you could find anything... off.
[Because poking around a living person who had been dead is entirely normal.]
Odd, more irregular than you think it should be.
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Date: 2014-05-28 07:16 am (UTC)[ He pauses in his various millings around to really look at Shepard, as if he were capable of scanning her with his eyes alone. ]
Happy to help. Still—should clarify, for sake of propriety: how... thorough?
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Date: 2014-05-28 09:57 am (UTC)Completely. If they've got anything extraneous in me, watching me, I need to know. And I need it removed if it's physically possible.
[He's beyond competent. Shepard has no doubt that if something's amiss, Mordin can find and fix it. There's also something about his hands and his eyes... and Shepard clamps down on that thought. There is a clear, legitimate reason she's speaking with him instead of Chakwas, and it's not simply because she finds Mordin appealing. He is, though. Professional, capable, handy with a pitchfork of all things, brilliant - he's everything Shepard looks for and more and it's been some time. That being thought, he's still a member of her crew and she's here as a patient. The last thing she wants to do is alienate someone she respects.]
Is now a good time?
[Because she can keep a hold of herself, and now is a rare free moment without the Illusive Man pestering her or Hackett wondering if she could check something out for him.]
Frankly, the sooner I get everything checked out, the better. I should know what's going on under my own hood.
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Date: 2014-05-28 11:09 pm (UTC)There is a very brief moment where he contemplates asking whether she'd be more comfortable doing this in her quarters instead of the lab, but he dismisses it just as quickly. Needless suggestion. Also somewhat inappropriate. Not sure why he even thought of it. ]
Now as good a time as any. EDI, some privacy, please?
[ Certainly, Doctor Solus, the room reverberates in reply, followed by the soft electronic chirp of the locks shifting from green to red. ]
Need to prepare. Strip to undergarments, if you would.
[ She's a soldier. They're aliens to one another. There's no cause for hesitation; this is protocol.
He steps over to the smaller exam table opposite the one he seems to live behind and pulls it back from the wall so he's capable of approaching from all angles, the swift glow of a decontamination grid sweeping over its surface. Not that he thinks Shepard is at all prone to shyness, but turning his back is simply a matter of courtesy. He busies himself longer than he would normally with adjusting instruments, pulling equipment out of the way (at the foot of the table, a hint of what's ahead), mostly for her benefit. After a moment, he speaks again: ]
Truthfully, was tempted to suggest something similar. Have found numerous Cerberus devices aboard ship undetectable through scanning. Have been working on developing targeted scan, but no luck so far. Tech unfamiliar, highly advanced. Not unlike Collectors'. Implications... [ a breath. ] unsettling.
[ Finally he straightens, not looking over, but he tilts his head toward her enough that his good horn curves in her direction. ]
Ready for you. Take a seat?
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Date: 2014-05-29 12:12 am (UTC)Her clothing gets pulled off and folded precisely off to the side just the way her bed gets made precisely every morning. What all Cerberus has done to her body is still an unknown, but Shepard knows herself and her habits. Though normally her habits don't have business edging this close to pleasure. Mordin is a professional. She can be just as professional. After all, he'd already turned her down. The question of how his skin would feel against hers is entirely inappropriate... and lingering despite that.]
They built the ship and consider it an investment, same with me. It follows that they'd want to keep track of as much as they can.
[She walks over and takes a seat, giving him a smile.]
So let's thwart them whenever possible.
[And she knows full well that it's a cause every non-human and several of the humans on board this ship can get behind. The Collectors need to be dealt with, but on her terms. Cerberus shouldn't profit here. She has no objections to her team profiting, though, and maybe whatever tech they've got in her could give Mordin something else to fiddle with as well. That thought widens the smile.]
If you're sure you're ready for me. A few people have said that before.
[She's fond of him, and she teases the people she's fond of.]
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Date: 2014-05-29 04:48 am (UTC)Well. To say he doesn't is a mild falsehood, but technically it has nothing to do with humans themselves. There is no xenophilic curiosity here, to speak of. On Mordin's end, at least. He has his suspicions about Shepard, who has always seemed a little too fascinated with the other Council races. It's true that human females differ little from asari, though more variable in shape—features small but elegant, bodies a collection of gently sloping curves, skin a little softer, a little warmer, fuzzed all over with a fine dusting of tiny hairs.
And it's true that Mordin has been... amenable to the advances of asari in the past. Humans themselves (the females, mostly, according to Mordin's subjective assessment) are aesthetically pleasing, on occasion. But that isn't it, either. Shepard lacks the limber grace of most asari, the vivid colors, the familiar smoothness. But she has something. Something that amounts to more than difference in species, even though he's fairly certain that she would be considered quite attractive by human standards.
He couldn't bring himself to respond to what he thought were her advances before. Too great a risk of interfering with mission. Shepard herself a less known quantity at the time. Too old. At this point in his life, ill-equipped for... complication.
But so, if he's honest with himself, he's not particularly interested in trying human, no. But he might be interested in trying Shepard. ]
Yes, yes. Sure you made short work of them.
[ It's a somewhat dismissive deflection of what he thinks might be flirtation on her part, but he isn't sure, so he chooses not to make assumptions. Humor often a tool to ease discomfort when feeling inordinately exposed. Also, he can feel himself settling into a comfortable frame of mind: the doctor, the scientist, eager to discover and solve.
He considers her there in her bra and underwear, fingers on chin (which are bare now, long and thin and dusky orange as the rest of him), his attention giving no more weight to her breasts or hips than it would her elbow. ]
Think it best to start with examination for subdermal implant, focus inward from there.
[ You know, like he's not talking about poking around her most intimate of areas. He steps around behind her, still studying her, visibly thinking the whole way along. ]
Lean forward? Primary concern base of skull, along vertebral column. Biotech most likely to be placed there; leech power from body's own electrical impulses.
[ It is with pleasant dispassion that he brushes the hair off her nape. With that done he can begin his work, fingers warmer than a human's settling high past her hairline and sliding down toward her C7 vertebra in a series of slow scanning stripes across the width of her neck. ]
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Date: 2014-05-29 05:31 am (UTC)It would make things easier if she could look at it so clearly. If she were to focus, she probably could. But it's been a long time since she's indulged herself in anything close to fantasy. There isn't harm in enjoying his touch. It's medically necessary. Tactically, pragmatically. She didn't come here to indulge herself but to make them safer from Cerberus.
And so, as his warm, so-long fingers move her hair and start to touch, Shepard feels a little warmer herself.]
That makes sense. It'd be harder to detect something next to other hardware.
[And the last thing most people would be surprised by was something special about her biotic implant, seeing as Cerberus liked to experiment.]
And putting something along the spinal column might make it harder to remove.
[Distancing herself from the situation helps. His fingers are gentle and she knows how much experience he has with bodies and the way they work. He would have to be a masterful lover, and now she's no longer as distanced as she'd been trying for. Maybe it would be better if he was less gentle, but that thought's dismissed fairly quickly. He wouldn't be him, then, and she wouldn't have this struggle in the first place.
Her fingers drum on her thighs as she tries not to think about 'inward' and what is coming. Even if he finds something in her neck that doesn't preclude the possibility of other devices. Realizing what she's doing, Shepard stills her hands. If at any point he seems uncomfortable, she'll call this off. He's completely capable of doing so too, but she doesn't want to push. He has no interest here. He's said as much. She won't cross that line.]
Too bad sticking me in that thing would probably fry it and me both.
[She indicates the device he'd stuck the coffee cup in. That would have made this a lot simpler for him.]
But I prefer not to fry, and any good scientist wouldn't want their equipment damaged, so that's off the table.
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From:Omega AU
Date: 2014-06-02 07:15 am (UTC)He stops to push back a pain that's not related to stray gunfire. The ship's gone. A lot's gone. He's making what difference he can here. And speaking of here, there is a doctor he's heard about. Supposed to be good with xenobiology.
After several minutes, as the pain's spread and Garrus has had to pause to keep his head down near a few merc groups, he finds his way into the clinic and slowly sinks into a seat. Fuck, that hurts. Lucky shot. Had to happen sometime, because Archangel's not perfect, even with his team nearby. Unfortunately it had to happen the one time they had precise and different exit routes planned, so he's alone as the waiting room slips in and out of focus.]
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Date: 2014-06-02 08:12 am (UTC)So it was probably only a matter of time before Archangel himself found his way here. Friendly territory.
As soon as one of his aides shows the bleeding turian into his exam room, he knows. Tells Daniel to attend to the next few patients—it's late in Omega's manufactured night cycle, which usually means a merciful lull—and seals the door behind him. ]
Remove armor, take seat quickly. Heard gunfire nearby; Tempest-type, five-round burst. Guessing Eclipse. Marked increase in activity lately, suspect change in leadership structure. Direct hit? [ A pause for breath. ] Did the bullet pass through?
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Date: 2014-06-02 08:26 am (UTC)[He's trying to grasp a train of thought as the salarian talks, and talks, and talks. That's a lot of words, all in a rush. And then he realizes that the direct hit question is about him and not what he's done to Eclipse, and that makes everything make more sense.
Garrus unfastens the seals of his armor, getting it off to the side with a quickly cut-off hiss of pain and taking a seat as instructed.]
Yeah. Lucky shot, direct, pretty certain it's clean through.
[After all, something wet was on his back and turians didn't sweat much at all.]
Shouldn't be too serious. It's just beyond what I can treat. And it hurts like hell.
[His gaze lingers on the sealed door for a moment before switching back to the salarian. The doctor's supposed to be good people. This should be worth the risk. There's nothing to suggest he's in danger here.]
STOPS SUCKING or maybe starts huhuhuhuhu
Date: 2014-07-09 10:28 pm (UTC)Almost asked if you get shot often; remembered where we are. Everyone gets shot often. Still, surprised to see you here. Reputation precedes you.
[ It's said lightly. Almost casual. A second passes before the familiar cool spread of medi-gel melts over the exit wound. It's a higher grade for deeper wounds and it burns like nothing else while it does its work, but the pain should subside before long. Mordin assumes Archangel is used to a little pain. ]
Good news! No significant organ trauma. Missed kidney by less than a centimeter. Lucky shot indeed, but still discourage future firefights wherever possible. For a while.
[ He moves away after a moment, rifling through a cabinet of meds against the far wall before returning to Garrus with a couple innocuous lavender pills and a coffee mug filled halfway with water. He foists them on him without explanation, since it should be self-explanatory. Bullet wounds are usually uncomfortable, to say the least. ]
At least killed the merc, I hope.
ooh la la~
Date: 2014-07-18 06:48 am (UTC)There's a tiny bit of relaxation in Garrus' posture as he processes this info and accepts the pills. It's alright. The salarian knows, and it's still alright. And while the pain's not unbearable, and is even at the edge of something he could certainly go for under other circumstances, Garrus swallows the pills.
The almost-question gets a snort.]
As if we'd let any of them get away. It was slavers again, this time after the runaway population. And the ones that didn't show up to the ambush are gonna be seeking revenge, so I'm not sure how I'm gonna be avoiding fire fights.
[He can't send his people in and not be there with them. They're a team.]
I'll do my best, and I'm glad nothing's seriously messed up, but we're gonna have trouble headed our way in a day or two here. Soon as they get organized.
[And if the mercs were smart, they'd go and get the Blue Suns involved. Some of those slaves had been intended for the Suns. That'd mean more firepower for these remnants, and it could be a more complicated fight. But Garrus' squad would take care of them.]
Keep an eye out for the Suns. They're gonna be on edge here.
[The loss of a few slaves isn't going to really trip up the Suns, but they'd probably be a bit more touchy for a few days.]
What do I--ugh.
[He'd been stupid and hopped back up to his feet as if he'd be fine. Not even Chakwas was ever that fast. Garrus puts a hand out to stabilize himself as the blood loss decides to make itself known again and he blinks back the spots in his vision.]
Uh. Owe. What do I owe you?
[He's totally fine.]
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Date: 2015-12-15 04:08 am (UTC)It's a good thing that Archangel's doing. ]
Bedrest.
[ And he says that with a twist of his lips, like he knows full well that there's nothing he could demand that would be worse. ]
Can expect fever response to injury as it heals. Minor infection due to waiting, hasty application of omni-gel. Have done what I can for now, Should have come immediately after skirmish.
[ Being scolded by a doctor might be humiliating in every culture, who knows. ]
No need to worry about clinic. Safest place to be at present; choke points fortified by armed mechs. If Suns not already aware... [ Sniff. His cheer about it is maybe vaguely macabre. ] Will be.
At any rate, welcome to stay. No, inaccurate. Not welcome. Must insist, actually. As your physician.