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Mass Effect: Eyes - Chapter 1Title: Eyes
Game: Mass Effect
Timeline: Post ME2 (Thus implying spoilers.)
Characters: Garrus Vakarian, Liara T'soni, female Shepard
Ships: Garrus x femShep, Liara x femShep
Disclaimer: Bioware owns Garrus Vakarian, Liara T'Soni, Cerberus, Illium, Akuze, Kahoku, and any other events/persons/locations in this fic. They also own my soul.
- - - - - Eyes - - - - -
- - - - - Chapter 1 : Liara - - - - -
"My, but isn't this unusual."
"In my opinion, this entire situation is unusual, Dr. T'soni."
"You are correct in that respect, Officer Vakarian. If I may say so, congratulations on your team's recent defeat of the Collectors. Now, what brings you to my office unaccompanied?"
"Thank you. But, please, just Garrus. I haven't truly been Officer Vakarian since I left C-Sec chasing after rogue Specters. As for why I'm here, I was hoping we could talk."
With an open hand, Liara gestured smoothly to one of the chairs in front of her desk. Her office door closed behind Garrus wit
Ahsoka Tano: Out of TuneWater dripped somewhere, causing echos on the temple's cave walls. A breeze rustled through the cave, bringing with it the smell of the snowstorm outside. The crystals sang. Purple, blue, green. But they were out of tune.
You sighed. Obviously a disturbance in the Force, yet you had been ordered by Master Yoda to take a meditative retreat here, and under no circumstances return until sent for. Yet, the disturbance had not evened out to meld with the greater hum of the Force, and you had not been sent for. Both the radio silence and the disharmony persisted.
You shook your head and sent your beaded Padawan braid swinging against your head-tails. All this quiet and mediation must be getting to you. You were used to the battlefield and the close quarters of space travel, not to this infernal waiting and silence. Getting up from your cross-legged meditation position, you massaged your legs, finding them stiff after staying still for so long. You shivered and pulled your robes closer around
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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