trans_9 | [not quite like old times]

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[not quite like old times]

Although the atmosphere of the Special Weapons division of the ship wasn't exactly the nicest place to go in the wake of a nightmare, it was still comforting in a way, being surrounded by so much technology. He'd spent a lot of time calibrating and modifying weapons and tinkering with the Mako on the Normandy. It was easy to lose himself in the work to the point where the background practically disappeared. The vaguely creepy atmosphere didn't bother him. He barely even noticed it.

He'd cleared the dust off one of the desks, laid down his gear, and got to work. His omni-tool lit up over the blast-scarred armor laying on the table, holographic schematics hovering above his outstretched hand. Somewhat satisfied with the results (there would always be room for improvement when it came to armor), he moved on to his M-92 Mantis sniper rifle, making sure everything was up to his standards. Sure, the Viper had a much better rate of fire and a more efficient cooling system, but there was nothing quite like the classics. The rifle had served him well on Omega, and it wouldn't do to not take care of it in turn.

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Beckett wasn't sure what was so attractive about the parts of the ship that contained weapons, but whatever the reason was, she couldn't keep herself away. When she wasn't doing her usual patrols (force of habit... even though she wasn't exactly required to do them, she liked to anyway), she would go either to the Precinct or to another similar part of the ship. She felt at home there, and so it made sense that she spent most of her time in those areas.

But this particular time, she wasn't the only one there. She vaguely recognized who was at one of the desks, weapons lying on the table in front of him. Quite an arsenal he had there. Intrigued, but also wary, Beckett cleared her throat to announce her presence.

Experience told her that it wasn't smart to walk up to someone with an array of weapons within reach.

He turned at the sound of Beckett clearing her throat, setting down his rifle and letting his omni-tool blink off.

"Detective," he said by way of greeting, nodding. "How are you?"

"Found someone to shoot already, Garrus? Shepard has worn off on you a great deal."

Tali came up to stop a meter to Garrus' side, resting one elbow on the very edge of the working desk. They had not spoken since their sudden arrival, when the shock of being on this ship was nearly matched by the surprise of the scar on the turian's face, by the words he had to give to her. The future. One filled with the same amount of violence as the recent past, at that. She didn't think anyone could blame the pair of them for needing sometime to adjust before having a further conversation.

"I do not believe we shall be departing on some trio ground mission anytime soon."

Garrus didn't stop his inspection of his rifle even at the sound of Tali's voice, the omni-tool glowing brightly as it scanned the weapon. Everything seemed to be in order, but it wouldn't hurt to strip it down and check everything himself.

"Still, it's a good idea to have everything ready, just in case," he replied, holding the detached scope up to his eyes and checking the sighting. The targeting assistance program in his visor kicked in, linking up with the scope. Normally it would provide him with information on what he was looking at, but since Stacey was entirely unlike whatever was in the program's database, the data was mostly unintelligible.

He set it down and finally turned to Tali, the tool blinking off. "What brings you down here?" he asked.

“I have no where else to be. I am not allowed near the engines on this ship.” It may as well have been oxygen or food they were keeping locked away from the sharp tone of her reply. “There are no central processing systems to examine, no cores or drives or even a bosh'tet piece of navigation equipment to meddle with.”

She turned, the edge of the desk pressing hard against the curve of her lower back as she leaned against it, crossing her arms in agitation. She was not pouting about it, of course, she did not pout. Tali was simply increasingly annoyed with the state of affairs. She sighed, bringing the level of agitation in her voice down to a simmer.

“I supposed it was time I search for my shotgun. Too many are wandering into strange dreams around me to be unarmed.”

Garrus shook his head in sympathy at her plight. He knew Tali felt at home when she had something to work on, whether it was the engines of the Normandy or a Prothean data disk. Quarians in general were expert technicians, but Tali was incredibly skilled, even by their standards. It would be a shame to let her talents to go waste in this place.

"Have you contacted anyone on the engineering team?" he asked, rolling his shoulders to work the kinks out of them. He'd spent a lot of time hunched over the table before Tali came in. "It might be a start."

He set the scope aside, near his armor, and moved on to the next piece of the rifle. "We sure did come in at a bad time, huh? We never can catch a break," he remarked, smiling wryly.

“I don’t know,” she commented wryly, “We are not actively pursuing suicide at the moment. Really, it is very nearly a vacation.”

She turned her head to watch him work, observing the sure movements with a small smile. They could very nearly be in the cargo area of the Normandy, waiting for the order to climb into the Mako and plummet into the next certain death scenario. Almost. It was a pity her mind was too swift to simply allow herself to pretend it, even for a moment.

“There is no real crew to this vessel,” she sighed. “Oh, they play the part. They have made titles and ranks and all kinds of very nice sounding rules. The ship runs itself, however, and does not trust organics to touch anything. Engineering is more a tinkering area than anything worthy of the name.”

Garrus couldn't help but laugh at the suicide comment. "True enough. We've been on enough impossible missions against horrendous odds to last a lifetime." Garrus trusted Shepard with his life and would follow her into hell itself, but the assault on the Collector base was more stressful than he would ever let on. Going after Saren had been entirely different. Exciting, even. But with the Collectors it had been hammered home again and again just how dangerous the mission would be, how powerful their enemies were, how likely it was that none of them would come back from it. They'd had days to dwell on what was to come.

The atmosphere here was much the same.

Garrus was a man of action. He hated all of this waiting.

The omni-tool glowed brightly as he began inspecting the weapon's mass accelerator, listening to Tali continue. "No one is allowed to touch anything?" he asked incredulously. The scarred side of his mouth twitched. "Every body needs a helping hand sometimes."

“Not that I’ve seen yet. I know one technologically inclined human was rather swiftly chastised when he attempted to access one of the systems. I’ve yet to explore this Neuropathy area, though I hold little hope. It may well only be a series of word puzzles to assist in mental flexibility, at this point.”

She shook her head slightly, frustrated beyond articulation at the entire situation. On board the Normandy she had been primarily below decks, only on rare occasion venturing forth with Shepard and the rest, but she had still been needed. For the first time in her life Tali was unnecessary, was simply taking up space.

It grated on her more than she thought possible.

“You do sound like Shepard,” she couldn’t help but add. “I will be expecting inspirational speeches next.”

Wedge cradled his precious, precious thermos of caf as he wandered the ship's corridors. He'd taken to long, rambling walks aided by copious amounts of stimulants as a way to avoid falling asleep for any great length of time. Not that helped, the way things were going. And on the plus it side, it also gave him an excuse to explore the ship. He poked his head into Special Weapons, pausing when he saw the alien he'd met at the last pop. Garrus had been his name, right? He took a few steps into the room and walked up to the table, looking down at the weapon.

"Nice rifle. Donos would probably love that thing..."

Wow, a lot of people were coming in to visit Garrus today (tonight?). Not that he minded that much or anything. He'd been keeping mostly to himself ever since he awakened on the meatship, trying to acclimatize himself to this new environment. The information that his universe had been destroyed despite Shepard's efforts hadn't exactly been easy to take in stride.

It took him a moment to place the man next to him. "General Antilles," he said, nodding in greeting. "Donos a friend of yours?"

"Myn Donos. He was a pilot under my command for some time, and a sniper in the Corellian Special Forces before that. Good man." He sighed quietly.

"Part of me wishes he was here. Him and the rest of my pilots. Force knows that it'd be good to have their minds to help me figure out what we're going to do to get out of this situation." He paused, taking a hefty swig of his caf before nodding at the weapon again.

"I've never seen anything quite like that rifle, though."

Sounded like someone Garrus might get along with.

He nodded as Wedge continued on. Garrus missed the rest of the Normandy crew. Despite their various malfunctions, they were still some of the smartest, toughest, most competent people he'd ever met, and that was even without Shepard. Maybe they were the most dysfunctional group of people to ever band together, but they were still a team. He was lucky he and Tali had each other. He knew a lot of others didn't have anyone they knew around.

Wait a minute -- what was that? An invitation to nerd out over guns? You bet it was! "It's a M-92 Mantis sniper rifle," he said, nodding towards the weapon. "Bolt action, low cooling efficiency, and it's not that effective against shields and biotic barriers, but it packs one hell of a punch. Place your shots right and you can even take down a gunship with that thing."

"You guys have personal shields...?" That was interesting. They'd been popular in the past, he knew, but they weren't common any longer in his time.

"Nice. Sounds like it packs quite a punch for a man-portable weapon." Wedge nodded appreciatively. He wasn't a full time commando, but he could appreciate that kind of thing. He drummed his fingers against his holstered blaster pistol.

"Nothing quite so fancy for me. DL-44 heavy blaster pistol, fires a particle beam. Pretty solid and reliable."

Jack's desk is a cluttered, messy place nearer the front of Special Weapons. There are at least five projects in various stages of completion and identifiability scattered in pieces across it. He likes it that way, it makes him hard to tell what he's working on at any given time.

Today, it appears to be some kind of robotic arm. It may or may not have to do with the half-finished chassis sitting off to one side. He can't close it up until he's got both the limbs functional.

Jack's been making a bit of noise this whole time but hasn't said anything, or even really looked up.

He powers up the arm, to test its movement. Unfortunately, the hand has worked its way under a small switch-

"Fore!" Jack yells, ducking as the arm flings the part through the air in Garrus' direction.

There are a lot of aspects of human culture of which Garrus is completely unaware. He doesn't understand why everyone says the PS10 doesn't have any games, despite the fact it is clearly a game system and has quite the line up. Pop culture references, especially those from old vids, go completely over his head. Even something as simple as a snow day was foreign to him -- Palaven was a warm planet, and there wasn't any real weather on Citadel Station.

So when someone yelled "Fore!" at him, Garrus wasn't going to duck or get out of the way. He was going to turn around, see why someone was yelling about numbers, and subsequently catch a switch with his face.

The little piece bounced off one of his mandibles and clattered to the floor. He stared at it for one long moment picked it up, and then looked back at the human who had apparently thrown it.

"What was that for?"

"I didn't throw it, it's not my fault you didn't duck," says Jack, sitting up again. Most people would say "sorry", but Jack's the Prince of Darkness, not the King of Manners.

It's a testament to how long he's been awake on Stacy that Garrus' appearance doesn't seem to weird him out too much, though he does stare at his scars a little bit.

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[not quite like old times]

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