shepard | (no subject)

(no subject)

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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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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