shepard | (no subject)

"I am not without a sense of humor, Shepard." His mouth tilted into a smile, "I just rarely find company in which to share it." Nuada wondered how Bashir had gotten hurt. He was almost afraid to ask. "Although, my sister did roll her eyes more than laugh at many of my jokes." When they were younger and more carefree. Her jokes tended to be on the practical side.

"I have not sought oblivion in drink in about a thousand years. Now is as good a time to break the trend as any. Last time I became inebriated I woke up naked near the top of an oak tree. I'm still unsure what happened by my best friend always laughed whenever we passed an oak from there after." Nuada shook his head. "I have the feeling a Dryad was involved. That is a female tree spirit."

Yes, he had drunkenness resulted in waking in strange places and situations he could not recall. Because once an elf managed to become drunk they had more alcohol in their system than any other species save Goblins and Cave Trolls. Thus the long period of sobriety.

He was hoping whatever had diminished him so far had lessened his tolerance for alcohol or he would never manage with wine.

"It is fortunate for you that Carnival is such that no one looks askance at cross-dressing. I understand corsets restrict movement too much." He tried to picture Shepard in a gown, and his mental image wore such a dismayed look he had to fight a chuckle.

Shepard sets down her fork. "You have a sister?" she asks. "What's she like?"

Shepard does look a little amused by Nuada's ancedote. "I think my drunken escapades were a little less exciting than that, actually. But it's been a good five years since I've downed more than a few glasses of wine." All drunk while making nice with politicians.

"The only time anyone could get me in a dress was at Founder's Day or Christmas," she says. "And even then it wasn't without a fight."

Shepard grins. "I already got mistaken for a man once. I actually don't mind it."

A sad, whistful look came to Nuada's eyes. "My sister, Nuala, she is... the other half of me. Like we are one soul in two bodies. We are twins. And so connected that if one is hurt, the other shared the injury or illness. Our minds have always touched to some degree. She is all compassion, grace and sweetness. When I woke on the station I could not feel her or our link for the first time in seven thousand years. I was certain I was dead and being punished in the afterlife."

He did not mention he should have been dead, or how Nuala had betrayed him. Or his appalling lack of honor driven by desperation and madness.

"Our father always tried to shield her mind from me," it was said so softly and sadly he wasn't aware he had spoken the last aloud. But then their father feared Nuada had loved his sister too much.

"She is all I am not and we often disagreed as adults." Nuada did chuckle then. "And just as we shared injuries, when I used to get drunk, so did she without the pleasure of the taste of the drink. I suppose her embarrassing stories were worse, as she had not imbibed at all."

"I do have a difficult time picturing you willingly in a dress. But I cannot see you mistaken for a man." No, her features were female, despite the demeanor, movement and the scar of a soldier, her features were soft. Her figure definitely that of a female, at least of most species.

"Why did your dad try to shield her from you?" Shepard asks, frowning. It's a question she doesn't dwell on for too long. If there's anything she's learned over the years, it was that most people didn't want to talk about their families on more than just a superficial level. So she gives him an out, if he wants it.

"Better to be mistaken for a man than to be hit on by a stranger," she says. "Though in her defense, it was dark out and she was more than a little drunk."

Shepard hands her plate to one of the servants working the event with a word of thanks, then glances up at Nuada. Her lips curl upward slightly before turning her attention back out to some of the dancing party-goers.

"Once we have something to celebrate, I'll put a dress on," she says.

Nuada accepted the graceful out Shepard had provided. He had spoken without thinking, his thoughts unguarded, which was dangerous at the best of times. Besides, humans had different morality and except for the old Egyptians they found what Nuada had long felt as a taboo or outright vile. The fact that his grandparents had been siblings would shock many humans. Some would blame such on his anger and spite. But Elves did not have the genetic imperfections humans did. And until his father's youth it was common enough if the heart went so. The latest generation had even started to adopt some human morals. Just another kind of pollution and destruction.

"That would have been amusing to see. How did you dissuade her?" As he had not seen Shepard look over any female he did not think she would encourage such. "Kind letdown or a threat?"

He knew which he'd use. He had in the past.

Nuada passed along his own plate, holding on to an apple. He'd nab one of the pomegranates before leaving. He took a glass of champagne from a passing tray. The Doge had made certain to have plenty of servants.

"I'd like to see that. Just to see how gracefully you can hide your dislike of a skirt." This time his smile was open and his tone teasing.

Yes, this escape, not to mention six glasses of alcohol, had offered relief as well as disappointment.

He spun to face her. "Alright, my curiosity is too strong, how did the good Doctor get stabbed?"

"Things were..." Shepard says, choosing her words carefully. "...a little more complicated than that. She figured out pretty quickly I was a woman and any interest she had in me was quickly over." If the situation hadn't been so dire, she might have found it amusing.

"I've had to hide my dislike of a lot of things. Compared to playing nice with politicians, smiling while I wear a dress should be a breeze." Shepard'd take physical discomfort over the discomfort of dealing with them.

"Muggers," Shepard says. "Pendragon took care of them. I'm pretty sure they're regretting it now." Shepard didn't ask what Arturia had actually done, but if she were as furious as Shepard had been, she could imagine that it wasn't pretty. "He's a doctor; fighting's not in his blood. I was trying to get him to train with me in the mornings, but he shot that down pretty quick. I'm going to rag on him some more once he's on the mend. See if he won't at least try to learn some basic defensive maneuvers."

"You are lucky she lost interest. There are those who wouldn't have cared. I once met this American human in Wales fifty years ago... Glamour didn't seem to work with him. He was with a woman, yet still attempted to seduce me." Nuada nodded at the memory. "I broke his jaw. I had to kill him for having the ability to see me."

He'd seen a descendent recently, the spitting image. He could apparently 'see' as well. Nuada was in a hurry tracking the crown piece at the time and hadn't had the opportunity to kill that one.

"She let them live?" Nuada's lack of eyebrows rose. He knew Arturia was one of the best human fighters he'd met. It was not light praise from him. But it seemed anathema to allow anyone who assaulted and stabbed a friend to live. Not that Bashir was a friend of his, he mentally told himself, but he was to Shepherd.

"Fighting need not be aggression. One can learn to defend and escape." Nuala had refused to learn and she'd put up no resistance when he had taken her from her Abraham. She could not have feared the pain of harming him. Mayhaps she knew the futility of it. But her meekness had angered him.

"Perhaps I could aid your cause by randomly attacking him about the station. I wouldn't hurt him, but he might accept learning just to make me stop," And it would amuse the hell out of Nuada. He definitely had a slightly sadistic side.

The Elf bit into the apple. Tart and juicy, with no chemicals or wax. It had been long since he'd tasted the like.

(M/N - Yes, if you're a BBC fan, that is who it was...)

"You broke his jaw for having the ability to see you?" Shepard repeats, brows furrowed. Her hand, as if by reflex, reaches up to her jaw. "You haven't done the same to anybody else aboard the Proserpina and we can all see you just fine."

Breaking someone's jaw for seeing him seemed a little severe -- unless he was on some sort of secret undercover mission. Which at this point, really wouldn't surprise her. She's seen weirder aboard the station.

"I don't know," Shepard says. "I didn't ask. I kind of had other things on my own when she showed up again."

Shepard's lips curl upright slightly at Nuada's suggestion. "I get the feeling Bashir would have a heart attack the second you made your first move," she says. "He might have had a change of heart after all this. Near death experiences can do that to you. Once he's patched up and I've had time to talk with him, I'll get back to you."

"Not at all. I punched him once and broke his jaw for trying to seduce me. I KILLED him for being able to see through my magical Glamour. My people have faded, Shepard, and any human who could see through Glamour could help capture some of the weakest of us. In my time they would have been spirited away and vivisected to discover what they were. Humans had long forgotten not only their vows and treaties, but that we existed at all. A Boggle or a pixy is no bigger than a human hand. They would stand no chance. Nor would a bridge troll who are no taller than your mid chest." He didn't know why he felt the need to explain or excuse his actions to a human. He had to admit to himself at last that Shepard had moved past respect and into a genuine 'like'.

"On the ship my magic is weak. I cannot call upon my natural Glamour if I wanted to. But there is no one from my own world and timeline for it to matter. They pose no threat to my people. And as our little Wall-mouse has pointed out to me, as there are none of my own on board that makes you all, for the time being, my people. As Prince it is my duty and honor to protect all of my people. To fight or die for them. To kill for them matters little and is easy enough."

Not to mention removing one more human from the world was satisfying in his own world. And as a resident of the Proserpina he could kill as protector easy enough. He had honor, but he was a warrior, a killer. He never had a problem with that facet of himself. Human life meant nothing because of their greed and evil. Any other life he valued and honored but would kill as needed to protect the whole. Even hunting he thanked the animal for it's sacrifice. Nuala was disgusted with him that he held human life below that of a squirrel.

What would she think of him now? Conversing with and defending a pack of humans. Well, maybe not Holmes, except for Klaus' insistence they needed his brain.

Nuada chuckled at her insistence that Bashir would have a heart attack. Hardly. He was young and healthy. He'd likely just develop a nervous twitch. "Ah, m'lady, you steal away my potential amusement so easily."

"Seeing as Bashir appears to be our first major injury it is a good thing we have another physician on board." There was irony in that. The doctor being the first real patient.

My people. Shepard somehow finds herself smiling at that. Until this moment, she never really considered the other people aboard the Proserpina to be her people, even though most of them had spent two months in each other's company. The part of her that wanted to believe that her time aboard the Proserpina was only temporary kept her from considering them as her crew.

But now that she thought about it, they really were. They were the closest thing she had to a crew now that she wasn't aboard the Normandy. It seemed strange, somehow, that Nuada had to be the one to point this out to her.

"What's your natural glamour like?" she asks. All of this is starting to sound like the fantasy vids one of her ex-boyfriends dragged her to when they happened to have a little shore leave. "Sorry if I sound ignorant, there's not really magic in my world. Closest thing we have to it is biotics, and it's... a little different from the magic in the old fantasy vids."

Shepard purses her lips at the mention of the Proserpina's other doctor. She doesn't particularly care for him; there's just something about his behavior that puts her off. "Hopefully Dr. Baltar can do something for him once we're back on the ship," she says. "I missed solid ground, but I honestly don't care for this era's technology." A beat. "Or lackthereof."

Nuada wasn't offended by the curiosity. For all he knew in her reality his kind and magic may never have existed.

"My preferred Glamour is simply to be unseen. But I can... could also appear human. Blue eyes and dark hair, if you'd like to know. It would certainly have made this excursion easier if whatever our captures had done did not weaken magic as well as the body. If I tried it now, it would hold only two seconds and leave me feeling drained. Hardly worth the effort at all."

Nuada shrugged. He had lived with the lack of technology far longer than with it. The pollutants in these days were what modern times called biodegradable. No plastics, rubber, few chemicals and no pesticides. The air was clear of emissions as well.

"Technology comes with it's own price. The lack of medical knowledge is far more worrisome. Especially if the good doctor is stuck here. I am proficient in basic battlefield medicine, if Arturia is not. But you would not have left them if he were in real danger."

Humans considered it First Aid, but he knew human anatomy well, for the opposite reason of medical aid. One did not fight as many wars as he did without gaining such knowledge. He could also remove a limb properly for best survivability on the field and the herb-lore and magics to make the agonized comfortable.

"I had not thought to bring a means to take things back to the station. I was rather hoping I would not be returning. But now there are small luxuries I find I would take back if I could. One's larger than my belt pouch. At the very least a deck of cards will come into my possession before the night is through. I plan on keeping my rather heavy coin purse for metalwork. Have you acquired anything?"

The fact that he had beaten four men unconscious and accidentally killed one of them to gain the purse and weapons was not something Shepard needed to know. He had a feeling she might object.

"Yeah, I don't blame you for not trying." Shepard's biotics had been severely dampened, too; it was weird, losing such a crucial part of herself. She had removed the amplifier to see if it was still functioning, but things seemed to be in working order.

"That's right," Shepard says. "I wouldn't have left him." And it's true; if he wasn't doing as well as he was, she would have been right there with him. "I thought I knew a lot about dealing with medical emergency during my N7 training," she says. "But the tools and resources I had access to, like medigel, aren't here. There's no easy fixes the way there were back in my time."

A beat.

"I was thinking of maybe taking the time to learn it. This might be the first time someone was seriously injured, but I doubt it's going to be the last. The more I know about treating people, the better off we'll be if there's another emergency."

She takes a glass of wine from a passing servant's tray and take a sip. "We got a few things that we thought might be useful. Dart board was the one we went looking for first," she says. "You'll have to join us for a game once we're back on the Proserpina. I used to play a mean game of darts back when I was just an Alliance grunt."

"Darts? Is that the game with the tiny arrows?" He looked suspicious.

Nuada was excellent at hunting with real arrows, but he was less skilled at throwing projectiles other than a lance or spear. He'd had to throw more than a few daggers and axes in his time, and no matter how hard he practiced he missed a third of the time. And that was with the speed and strength helping. He was loath to find out how bad his aim was without those advantages. He preferred to guide a weapon in his own hand.

"I can teach you some field medicine for limited resources, but I think you just discovered a way to entice Bashir to learn defense. Trade lessons with him. Don't let him think you want to, though. Appear as you are putting yourself out. But offer to learn basic emergency medicine if he'll learn basic self defense." It was manipulation, yes, but for the benefit of the manipulated.

Anyone who spent hundreds of years in a royal court learned to manipulate others. It was all in the purpose behind the act.

Nuada sipped at his seventh drink as music he recognized started to play. A waltz. "You have eaten, and drank, would m'lady care for a dance?"

Dancing was physical and timed. Swordplay was often compared to dancing for a reason. He would never admit to enjoying it, but Nuala had known and made certain he knew all the formal dances.

This was the first time he had ever considered doing so with a human.

"Kind of. Back where I'm from, you're bound to find a board and darts in a bar or a rec room if you were lucky. It's been awhile since I last gave it a shot. Hope my shot hasn't gotten rusty."

Shepard's lips curl into a sly smile at Nuada's suggestion. "I think that's a damn good idea," she says. "And two teachers will definitely be better than one. Once we're back aboard the Proserpina, you'll have to show me what you know."

Shepard finishes her own drink just as the music starts -- then deposits the beverage on a passing tray.

"I'm awful at dancing," she admits, looking almost embarrassed. "I think you'd be horrified to watch me at work. Everyone on the Normandy rags on me for it."

"I'm awful at throwing projectiles. I have done so often enough, and I will allow myself to be humiliated at the darts." It wasn't as if anyone on the ship would share such with anyone from his world.

"Have you ever tried to waltz? I have a strange feeling you have difficulty allowing someone else direct how you move." He had observed the formless modern dances, and the occasional formal ball. Modern human women seemed to have that exact problem. Unwillingness to give over control, attempting to be the lead.

"In a waltz think of it as moving to a clock. Simply count to three, that is the only steps you need learn. Besides, I heal quickly should you decide to dance on my feet instead."

"And I'm awful at dancing," Shepard says, with a smile. "But I'm willing to humiliate myself in front of you and all these numerous guests if you think you can actually teach me how to dance."

Shepard offers him a hand, letting him lead her onto the dance floor. "But don't say that I didn't warn you."

"The good news is twofold," Nuada formally took Shepard's hand and walked with her to the dancers. "First, almost all of these people do not know who you are or ever see you again. Secondly, a straightforward formal waltz is easy enough a cave troll can, and has done it. Perhaps not with complete flowing grace, but well enough."

He turned to stand in front of her placing the hand he'd been holding on his waist and knowing she was smart enough to see everyone else for placement of her free hand. He took her other hand and held it out in position.

"Being a bit stiff above the waist is a plus in this dance, as only hands are to be touching A stiff frame is proper," Nuada moved them out among the dancers. "One," he he stepped forward with his left foot, "step back with the right foot."

When she had followed the simple instruction he tilted his head a bit to the right. "Two," his right foot stepped sideways and to the right, "left foot step sideways to the left." He led her through the step.

He led her through the six simple steps to the box step. "Now repeat the moves to the beat, or count of the one, two, three in your head. If you must, look down and just let your feet follow mine."

Anyone could waltz if they just took their parts, lead and follow. It may be wooden and stiff, but the steps were repetitive and the count easy. He wouldn't attempt anything else with one convinced of a lack of coordination, for their sake.

Edited 2012-05-01 04:15 (UTC)

"Point taken," Shepard says, smiling. The ship seemed unlikely to visit the same place twice. And even if it did, it was unlikely that any of them would remember her -- not with the costume and the mask, anyway.

"I wouldn't count on the grace," she says. "But if I manage to do this without tripping over your feet -- or mine -- more than twice I'll consider it a success."

Shepard moves stiffly as Nuada moves her hands into position; her foot movements are equally as awkward. She steps back with her right foot, looking down to make sure her movements mirror his own. She repeats the process with her right foot, and then left foot, the next step as wooden as the last.

There's a stumble here, a misstep there, but Shepard performs far better with a teacher and a partner than she does performing solo without instruction. "If anyone would have asked me back on the Normandy what I'd be doing in two months, I don't think I would have answered 'dancing the waltz in 16th century Italy'."

A beat. "Or attempting to, anyway," she says, eyes gleaming as she stumbles over her footing for the fourth time that night. If there's anything that can be Shepard, she doesn't take her own shortcomings very seriously.

"Do you think the Proserpina's ever going to take us home?" she asks.

Shepard was not doing too badly. She would never be a graceful dancer, but for a cold first try she was not horrific. In fact, if she had a gown on most errors would have been hidden by the skirts.

Nuada frowned at her question. "I do not know. Whatever they gave us makes me think they do not intend to. But that does not mean we cannot find our own way. We need to form a cohesive unit, which will be difficult to impossible with some," he detested the idea that if they managed to get truly organized he may have to take orders from some human.

He knew his own limitations. He was a warrior, a strategist and if truly pressed he could put on the mask of a politician. He was the heir to a crown and had learned many skills that he cared little for. But in the end, he knew nothing of space travel and the kind of technology on the space station.

"Someone with experience in space and command would need be in charge, and would end up fighting many on decisions, because we comprise mostly of civilians. I believe our wormhole expert is working on theories or tests or such towards the end of us getting home."

It would take a near miracle to get everyone in hand. "I don't have enough knowledge of our scientists to try and run odds. But it is not totally hopeless," he reassured her.

He believed it to be true as well. But it would take time.

"I do not foresee it coming about very soon, however, there is always hope."

"I might hold the title of commander, but I'm not used to dealing with civilian," Shepard says as she moves her left foot behind her. "I've been in the military for almost a decade now. I'm used to dealing with people with discipline."

A beat. "But I agree. I think we need to organize. Pool our resources together. Learn to communicate."

She moves towards the side again. "Someone's researching wormholes?" she repeats. She's not much of a scientist herself; she's of more use looking through a sniper's scope than the lens of a microscope. "I hope he finds something. Being aboard the Proserpina's not bad really; it's the not knowing why or for how long that I find problematic. Almost everyone I've encountered was pulled from their own realities in the midst of something big happening. Myself included."

True. As far as he could ascertain. He had not spoken to many. He tended to keep away from the human contingent unless necessary. He had come at what he was certain would be the moment of his death. Dying in both failure and dishonor was why had at first thought this was hell. If he went back would he still die? If he was destined to, he intended to regain at least honor.

"Most of us has some skill, some ability others do not. Yet our abilities are curtailed. My guess is that they want something of these abilities, but not enough for us to threaten THEM, whomever they are. Somewhere there is a plan. I intend to do as much as I can to foil it." The resolve was visible in his eyes, which had turned toward orange instead of gold.

"Perhaps we need a military commander and a civilian representative. There are those personalities who prefer to have someone else in charge. To be told what to do and give them some purpose." His father's counsel had advisers both military and civilian. But it was always the King who made the final call.

He honestly was not suggesting Shephard take the position, while he was aware she would do well at it. He simply spoke of what needed to be done.

"The boy with the wild hair and the inked skin. He apparently is an authority on wormholes. That makes him one of the most important people on the station, as far as I am concerned. He is the one with the best chance of getting us all home." Nuada motioned with his head to the place where Ozzy was talking to Klaus.

Shepard presses her lips together at Nuada's words. Her own biotic abilities had been dampened significantly since they boarded the Proserpina, and it made her uncomfortable. She'd been fitted with an amp over ten years ago; while she rarely used her biotics outside of combat, losing that felt a lot like how she imagined it would feel to lose a limb. Some working part of her had been almost completely severed, leaving something incomplete and almost useless in its wake.

"I don't doubt it," she agrees. "I just wish they were more forthcoming. I wouldn't mind helping if we had our powers. If we knew what we were doing and why. I think a part of me is worried there's a reason they're not telling us. That whatever objective we're supposed to be completing for them isn't something we'd agree to do normally."

Even with the Reaper threat looming over her own reality, there were still some things she'd refuse to do -- even if it meant never returning home.

"You're royalty, aren't you?" A beat as she stumbles slightly backwards. "You must be good at leading yourself. Would you be up for the task?"

When the conversation segues to wormholes, she glances over at Ozzy. "I'll keep that in mind," she says. "I'm not a scientist, but if there's something I can do to help, I'll do it."

"Yes, I am the heir to the throne of Bathmoora. But I know nothing of space or the kind of technology at work on the station. It would be as you taking control of a dance class." he teased. "I can command armies, but not science."

The waltz ended then and he offered a slight bow before guiding her from the dance floor as a more complicated dance began.

He quickly grabbed another glass of wine. Champagne this time. "Personally, I would recommend the comedian. Kirk I think his name is. He has captained a ship before."

"There's always time to learn," Shepard says with a smile. "If there's anything we're not lacking in, it's time. I never thought I'd learn to swordfight in my lifetime, but here I am, clashing swords with the best of them."

When the waltz ends, Shepard returns his bow with a bow of her own.

"I talked with him," she says. "Once or twice, anyway. He definitely seems to have the making of a leader. You think he'd be up to it?" Her encounters with the captain were brief -- and while she considered herself a fairly good judge of character, she didn't know how he'd react to such a proposition.

"I'm trying to learn, however the computers are not very forthcoming with very much information the station." He hated the idea of learning anything from a human. However, there were a few he could stand if it came to it. There were those on board who understood the basics of space travel. "I tried dismantling a food machine, but its workings are currently beyond me. I put it back together exactly as I dismantled it, but it ceased working at all after that."

"I do not know if Kirk would be willing. I am stating he is a good candidate. So are you," he would not name Spock if someone held an iron bar to his head.

"I do think it should be discussed. The civilians will balk at a leader they had forced on them."

"I'm sure anyone able to fix the replicators would be elected to office in a heartbeat," Shepard says, taking a glass of wine for herself as well; there's no telling when they'll next be able to enjoy a nice glass of wine. Depending on the replicators' temperament, it could be tomorrow, or it could very well be never again. "I think that before we start pushing forward names for potential candidates we make sure they're up for the task. The last thing we need is to nominate someone who doesn't want the job."

She takes a long sip of her beverage. "Have you been up to anything interesting while we were down here?"