shepard | (no subject)

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Shepard likes parties. She just doesn't like big ones. If given the choice between a small, simple gathering between close friends and a large, extravagant one, she'd always choose the small one. The large celebrations tended to be the ones where she'd have to pretend to be someone she wasn't: it was all forced smiles and handshakes and compliments.

That wasn't Shepard.

When she was handed an invitation to a party, Shepard wasn't sure if she should actually go. But an even mixture of boredom and curiosity is enough to send her there solo, holding the invitation in a single gloved hand.

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"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?"

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