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The lights are off and every sofa in the lounge is currently missing its cushions.

Well, the ones with removable cushions anyways.

In the corner, huddled up under the large pile of said missing cushions and wrapped up in several blankets for a good measure, Nihlus idly wonders if he might have gone a bit overboard. He’s too warm and too damn comfortable to really regret it though, and it’s not like anyone was really using the room at this hour- especially now that they’re conserving power and the big screen TV couldn’t be turned on past a certain time.

If you do happen to walk in at this ungodly hour, you won’t really see much of Kryik underneath all the pillows. You will hear muffled snatches of what sounds a lot like a particularly cheesy soap opera acting drifting up from the pile though, and there’s the flickering orange glow of an omni-tool spilling out from the cracks between each cushion.

Someone was going to use the room at this hour, thank you very much. Wash is very much awake, as he tends to be most of the night, and looking for a distraction. Laying in bed with nothing to do all day is bad enough, but when you're doing it all night too because you're incapable of sleeping more than two hours a day, it gets beyond insufferable.

All he'd been planning to do was sit on one of the couches and read or... something. Anything, really! Just something that wasn't being stuck in bed to heal. Except that when he walks into the lounge, the first thing he notices is the lack of cushions. The second thing is the huge pile of said cushions in the corner. For a long, silent moment, Wash simply stares at the pile, uncertain of how to react to a goddamn pillowfort, and in this silence, he catches quiet noise coming from within. Whoever's in there, and he's assuming it's one of the kids, is playing a game or watching something, almost definitely awake.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" He asks, arms folding over his chest as the surprise wears off. Taking a few steps toward the fort, he narrows his eyes and stares through the darkness, tone of voice clearly unimpressed. He doesn't care who this is, taking all the cushions from the couch is annoying. Other people might be awake at three in the morning too!!

There's a bit of a pause and then the pile starts shifting. A second later, Nihlus' head pops free, one cushion perfectly balance on top of his crest. He blinks at Wash- and then offers the man a playful little quirk of a mandible.

"Shouldn't you?"

Especially since he can see you're not looking too hot. It takes a bit for his eyes to adjust to the dark, but with the glow of the omni-tool to help... well. Nihlus' expression turns pensive. Considering the fact that they'd just pulled away from the Runoff, he's not sure if he should try and ask about the injuries.

A brief internal debate later, he opts against it and just nudges some of the cushions aside to make space instead.

"Wanna watch 'Passion and Love in Kithoi' with me?"

Alright, it's a surprise when it's Nihlus who pops out of the fort. ...And the cushion balancing act is almost kind of amusing. But mostly, Wash is in quiet disbelief that a fully grown alien would build up a pile of couch cushions for any reason. It's so... ridiculous.

He doesn't bother with a response to having his own question shot back at him. Yeah, he should be in bed. They both should. But Wash hardly sleeps and he has to imagine that Nihlus has a reason for being awake this late, too. No doubt everyone on this ship has nightmares and trouble sleeping to some level, given everything they've been through since coming through the Ingress...

"...Do I even want to know what that is?" He asks, squinting through the darkness. Judging from the title, no, he probably doesn't. He's also not so sure he wants to go joining anyone in a pillow fort. ...Then again, how does he expect to read or anything in here while it's dark? Even if he did manage to steal a cushion or two back... Going back to bed is not an option because the very idea has him wanting to slam his head repeatedly against a wall, so maybe Wash takes just a couple steps closer, if a little reluctantly.

Nihlus was one of the most decorated Spectres on the roster and possibly the most decorated Turian Spectre in all of known history. As far as he's concerned, he has the god-given right to be ridiculous.

"It's a serial drama about a family of Asari living in the Kithoi Ward," Nihlus shakes the cushion off his head and bundles the blanket around himself tighter now that he's exposed to the cold air again. "That's, ah, one of the arms on the Citadel, a massive space station that serves as the main intergalactic hub for Council Space. The Council is a multi-species governing body that I worked for."

"Here," he props himself up on his elbows and pauses the video before pulls up some of the promotional pictures, the first one featuring most of the cast. A majority of them were Asari but there were a good amount of Salarians, some Turians, Several Hanar and Voluses... and a token Krogan and human crammed into the back.

You can tell the unpopular demographic here.

"Its one of the most popular and longest running series on the Citadel. I just started the episode I'm on." He flicks back to the vid. "The summary says 'Matron Aliya's daughters attempt to match-make her with her boss' new, handsome Salarian secretary'."

Come, curl up and watch this trainwreck with him, Wash. You know you want to.

Edited 2016-08-07 05:04 (UTC)

In the end, whether or not Wash wants to know what the show is about doesn't matter all that much because, as Nihlus explains it, he understands next to nothing. After 'a serial drama about a family', things stop making much sense. Still, when Nihlus pulls up the promotional pictures, he steps closer and leans in, squinting at the...interesting looking cast.

"It sounds terrible." He notes flatly, finding the summary of the episode sounds like literally every other serial drama show ever. ...Not that he'd know, exactly. He never watched the things himself, okay?? He just has--had sisters.

Standing upright again, Wash glances back to the door for just a second, almost seeming to debate leaving and finding somewhere else to waste his time, but really, what else is there going to be at this time of the night? Especially with all the new power restrictions? Gaze shifting back to Nihlus, the warm looking pile of cushions and blankets, and a distraction that has him not technically going against doctors' orders because it involves laying down, he hesitates. Then there's a long-suffering sigh, and he moves toward the space Nihlus made for him.

"...But it sounds better than being awake at this hour with nothing to do." He amends in something of a mutter, lowering and shifting himself carefully to join the Turian in the pile.

Isn't that the point of a serial drama? It's terrible and it's the same thing over and over but people eat it up anyways because this time it's their favorite characters getting launched headlong into the hazardous, flaming pile of relationship drama.

... That's the reason Nihlus watches them anyways. That, and that fact that it was as far removed from Spectre work as things could get. Keeping galactic peace was a noble goal, but Sisyphean on the best of days. At least most serial drama conflicts get resolutions.

When Wash concedes, he grins quietly, makes a pleased little thrum and shifts a bit further just to make sure the man had proper space. He'd only used enough cushions to pad the floor for one Turian-sized person and while Wash wasn't particularly big, the final fit was still a bit snug. Not necessarily a problem for said Turian, but if Wash wanted a bit more space, well, there were cushions to spare.

"I've got all twenty seasons on my omni-tool if you ever want something to pass the time," he offers while handing the second blanket over. The video would need to be recoded in order to play properly on MIDs, but he's successfully transferred files between the MID and his omni-tool before without too much of a hitch.

It's pretty close quarters and Wash is hardly a fan of sharing space with others these days, but he's also way too damn tired to give enough of a damn to bother making more room. He'll survive. Besides, easier to see the screen if he's closer anyway, and if he's going to lie here watching some ridiculous serial drama, well... He'd like to actually see what's going on.

"I'm kind of doubting I'll get that invested," he responds, not even bothering to be shocked over how much of the show there apparently is. These things tend to run stupidly long, right? But really, he's pretty sure he'll be okay not watching the entire thing. ...Though it would be a way to pass the time while he's still bedridden. "...But noted."

Taking the blanket that's offered to him, Wash wraps it around himself with as little movement as possible, shifting awkwardly as he bites back a couple grunts of pain. He ends up satisfied and already starting to warm up eventually though, and from there he settles down, laying out on his stomach.

"What season are you watching now, anyway?" The question is a little absent-minded, though it shows that Wash is at least curious enough to ask that much. And maybe quietly wondering if there are things he needs to know to understand what's going on. Though he has the feeling that there's plenty he's not going to understand, regardless.

"The first. I'm about three episodes in so far."

He'd downloaded it (along with a decently vast collection of media) during his visit to the Citadel on Amissis-Re and... hadn't really had the time to watch any of it until now. Most of his time during their stay in the Collectives had been spent either keeping track of Rinzler or finishing up the fabricator. After that had been the Caducans and then the glassing and then the Outpost...

Well, let's just say there'd been no time and leave it at that.

Reaching out over Wash's shoulders, Nihlus gathers up the pillows he'd moved aside and settles them back into a vaguely fort-like arrangement. Once content with the state of the cushions, he sighs and stretches out, flattening himself down again and gently nudging the holographic 'screen' until it projected properly between them.

"If you want to, we can start at the top?" Casting his new fort-buddy a smile, he adds, "I don't mind rewatching."

That's convenient. Or, you know, would be if Wash cared at all about keeping up with storylines in a soap opera. Which he doesn't. At all.

The fact that Nihlus is only three episodes in to the entire show will keep him from getting too confused, at least. Not that it matters, but whatever, the less confusion he deals with in down time, the better. The offer to start from episode one has Wash shaking his head while he eyes the screen.

"It's fine. Not much can have happened in three episodes." He replies, meeting Nihlus' look. ...It's weird having someone smile at him. Like, an actual smile instead of something mocking or cruel or unsuspecting. He's not sure how he feels about it, seeing a smile that's an actual smile. Friendly. For the time being, he settles on feeling uneasy.

Lips pressing into a firm line, he shifts his attention back to the screen and feels something that's edging close to embarrassment. Why??? He doesn't care what anyone else thinks! And to totally prove that, he'll just reiterate:

"Like I said, I'm not planning on getting invested, so I'm not too worried about it."

"They'll be there if you change your mind," Nihlus posits and there's a warm, mysteriously knowing note playfully sandwiched in between the layers of his voice. He doesn't push the matter either way and opts to rewind the current episode to the start without mentioning it.

As the intro rolls, the Turian just kind of melts next to Wash, sinking down onto his sternum, head propped up by a palm. Nihlus generally preferred doing most of his sleeping and relaxing in a sitting position but the fort was cozy and his crewmate was warm pressed up against his side.

This was nice. The last time he'd been comfortably close like this had been sleepy drunken pile-up after Shepard's birthday celebration. He wonders if he could talk Wash into watching some of the Blasto movies sometime.

Onscreen, Aliya is making small talk one of her coworkers at the water fountain when the scene gets interrupted by the entrance of her Salarian potential love interest. There's a lot of sparkles and slow-mos and cheesy music as he walks by.

"If you don't get anything, just pipe up," Nihlus murmurs, green eyes half lidded, attention wandering a bit since he'd already been through most of the beginning.

If it happens to wander mostly towards Wash, well. Nothing for it.

Opting to ignore the knowing lilt in Nihlus' tone, Wash just keeps his focus on the screen. The episode starts, and he settles in, an almost thoughtful frown crossing his face as he watches.

This reminds him a lot of downtime in Freelancer. Not because they'd ever built pillow forts, or anything, but there had been plenty of sitting or laying around, watching videos on data pads together. There's something comforting in the similarities here, though it's paired with an air of sadness-- the memories themselves are happy, but knowing that everyone is dead dampens that a fair bit. It's also another part of what makes this whole thing weird, because he never expected to be doing this kind of thing again with anyone.

Nihlus' voice pulls Wash back from his silent reverie, and though his gaze lingers on the screen, it does dart in the Turian's direction just briefly. If he doesn't get anything? --Oh, right. Because this is an alien soap opera. Yeah, he's bound to have questions about some things.

"Right," he nods, though so far he hasn't had much problem. Most of it, he's been able to parse out. Then again, they're not in very far at all. Slowly, Wash props an elbow on the cushion under him and rests his chin in his palm. "Have you watched all of this before? The show, not this part of the episode."

The brief glimmer of sadness in Wash's eyes aren't missed, but Nihlus has enough tact not to ask about it outright. He watches it play out for a bit in silence instead, until the human acknowledges his question.

"Not this show, no." His own eyes move back to the screen as the dialogue starts getting liberally peppered with obscure scientific terms. As was about par for the course for Salarian soap romances.

"I saw a couple of random episodes here and there but I never had time to pick up before." It'd seemed pretty entertaining and Saren scoffing at it had made him even more determined to watch it. Didn't really get a chance to before he'd...

Well.

"Figured now was a good a time as any to start."

If nothing else, second chances were a good opportunity to catch up on soaps.

"Right," he responds, understanding that pretty well. Never having time for things like TV shows or any sort of pastime activities. "No better time than while you're stuck on a ship with hardly anything to do most of the time." A stark contrast to what his own life had been like at home. --Or, before he'd been in prison, anyway. That had been pretty quiet, but before that? Downtime had been such a rarity, and even now he has a hard time handling it.

The show's dialogue has quickly become littered with words that Wash doesn't understand, but he's not particularly bothered. Not enough to inquire about them, anyway. Maybe he'll work some of the meanings out from context or as the show goes on, maybe he won't. He's fine either way because this is still something to keep his focus on without really having to keep much track of what's happening.

"I haven't actually watched a series in years," he comments after a few moments, not really thinking about it as the words come out. It's possible that a bit of his guard has slipped down just a fraction. There's just... something about this that... it doesn't feel absolutely safe, exactly, but maybe the closest to that sort of feeling than he's had in a long damn time. Which is bizarre, considering how little he actually knows Nihlus. Maybe part of it is how tired he is.

"Haven't had the time since I enlisted." Which was... Jesus. Eight years ago. And this might be the most personal information he's given anyone in a long damn time, too. Not that Wash seems to take that much note of it, exhaling a long breath as his body starts to sink more into the cushions, slowly relaxing if mostly out of pure exhaustion.

"Plenty to do for me, just nothing particularly pressing at the moment," Nihlus chuckles.

Also, mostly, he just wanted to catch up on anything and everything before actually permanently dying again. It was a very fatalistic set of reasoning brought about by a sudden existential crisis, though, and not something he was about to bring up when he was warm and cozy in friendly company.

"I just watched whenever I got the time to. It was a good way of coping after I got enlisted myself," he admits as well, voice soft, watching as the drama between the Salarian and the Matriarch's daughters began to slowly unfurl.

The cushions shift a bit as Wash settles down and Nihlus's eyes slide briefly over to the man beside him. He's careful not to make it too obvious, but the the quiet air of sore and aching peace settling over his crewmate makes him smile privately, silently thankful. Those injuries didn't look the sort to be easy to sleep with.

"What's the last show you watched?" his voice is soft and his undertones thrum a low, lulling note that continues on after the words.

"Lucky, then," he replies a bit absently. What he wouldn't give to have plenty to do, especially over the next couple weeks. Even when he's not stuck on bedrest, he doesn't have enough to keep him occupied most hours of the day, and it's frustrating to him even now. He's forgotten what to do with himself during downtime.

A thoughtful hum comes after hearing that Nihlus used watching shows as a way to cope with enlistment. He could have done the same, he supposes, in times where it wasn't too hectic, but it hadn't ever occurred to him. Something about trying to keep up with a series with such little free time felt weird; most of the vids he spent his time watching had been one-offs or like, something familiar that he'd watched a hundred times before.

"The last show...?" Wash repeats the question slowly, turning his head in his palm to look over at Nihlus. He has to think about it, really think, and... even then, nothing occurs to him. His mind isn't blank, it's fuzzy, and too much of the stuff from before Epsilon just... it's almost like it's not there anymore, or like it got buried at some point and he doesn't know what pile is hiding it. This time it's something small and unimportant, but what if next time he goes digging for something about his family, something basic like his sisters' names, and he can't remember them?

He'd rather not think about that.

"I don't know," he answers finally, making an effort to shrug it off. "I can't remember at this point. It's been so long."

The peculiar discomfort was subtle, but Nihlus picks it up quickly. Curious but unwilling to ask for fear of drawing Wash out of his new state of comfort, the Spectre remains silent for a beat before speaking up.

"I don't blame you," he says by way of gently steering the topic towards something a bit more comfortable. "Think before this, I watched some kind of generic Turian serial. Took me two years to finish it and I still don't know what half of it was all about. Kept losings track of plots and stuff between the months."

He'd been a little better about it while working as a Hierarchy soldier, but then he hadn't exactly been a model soldier. Downtime had often been long stretches of loneliness when leaving the base and getting away from his squad hadn't been an option. Serial dramas had been one of the few things he'd enjoyed and could enjoy alone.

"The couple I was rooting for made out though, so it was all good."

Zam’s been sleeping in the engine room for a couple of nights now. Most people would find the environment uncomfortably hot, but to a cold-blooded being like Zam who can’t stand the chill that’s descended over the ship, it’s a godsend. That said, it isn’t a room meant for comfort, which means Zam has to make some adjustments if she’s planning on staying there long-term. Which means cushions, which means the lounge.

Unfortunately, by the time she gets there, someone else has already stripped the sofas bare. Zam stares at the resulting pillow fort in annoyance. It looks occupied. But as she steps closer, she catches the faint sound of what sounds like some sort of holodrama drifting out from between the cushions. Maybe she can snatch a couple after all, if her crewmate is so distracted. It’s possible they’re even asleep. Zam creeps closer, wary for any sign of movement -- and carefully grabs one of the outer cushions from the pile.

Nihlus might feel his pillow fort to shift as Zam pulls one of the larger cushions free.

The pillows shift and Zam gets to be one of the very few people to hear a muffled Turian chirp of displeasure.

He was comfortable, dammit.

Sitting up, he nods a cushion off his head and casts vaguely bemused look at the pillow thief.

"... Zam."

Still, Nihlus... had no grounds to actually chastise her for stealing the pillows. They're not his pillows. And, so, rather than try, he just just rests his cheek atop a palm watches her as the muffled sound of the soap continues drifting up from his omni-tool in the background.

"You planning to nest down in the engines?"

[The chirp is something of a surprise given Zam’s become accustomed to most of her crewmates being humans. It’s enough for Zam not to just bolt for the door, ill-gotten cushions in hand and instead stick around long enough to identify the mysterious pillow fort-builder -- and to be identified herself.

At least he doesn’t seem angry. Zam nods at the question, pushing what cushions she’s managed to extract behind her before reaching for her MID to type a response.]

Don’t think I could convince the captains to let me drag my bed down there. [Which means filching cushions from the lounge is clearly the best alternative.]

Iiiiiii'm going to go down there with you.

[ Nihlus sits up and flicks his omni-tool off. And then shivers now that he's exposed to the cold air again, wrapping his blanket tighter around his cowl and shoulders. ]

To make sure you don't put it near anything that might set them on fire.

[ Fires were bad enough. Fires near delicate engine parts and life-support systems were definitely not on the list of things he wanted to deal with when the engine room was the only warm room on the ship. ]

You need more cushions before we go or? I can help you carry some.

[An irritated expression flickers across Zam’s face, though it’s likely hidden in the dark. The glowing words she taps into her MID aren’t, though.] I’m not stupid.

[But if Nihlus wants to accompany her, then she won’t stop him. At least it means more hands to carry cushions. She nods at his question and makes a general gesture at the pile he’s accrued. He can take however many he wants. Zam will be filling her own arms with cushions right afterwards. Which means either no conversation or only yes-no questions until they reach the engines. Being mute: it isn’t fun.]

You could be the Primarch of Palaven and I still wouldn't let you place your bed willy nilly in the engine room.

[ It's a roomful of alien tech that they don't entirely understand and while they've managed to reverse engineer enough to know what would and wouldn't explode horribly, well. The average non-engineer crew member likely wouldn't have as good an idea.

Puffing a sigh, Nihlus grabs a few cushions as well and takes off after Zam.

He's pretty used to working with mutes these days at least. ]

It’s been half a year, the Moira’s only sort of exploded once, most of his friends are still around and he’s still alive.

… Maybe. There’s definitely some existential crisis now and again about that last bit.

Regardless, it’s still a good an excuse as any for him to break out the meat he’d been keeping hidden in the freezer since the Collectives for this weird not-really-sort-of-a celebration. Meat and a small collection of spices and condiments as close to the stuff that he’d been able to find in the grocery stores around the Citadel. And a mysterious, pink-tinged bottle of dextro-friendly liquor.

The galley was creepy with no one around and just a couple of lights on. Nihlus forgets about his surroundings soon enough though, busying himself slicing paper-thin cuts off the still half frozen blue chunk with a ceramic blade he’d created using his omni-tool.

He’s happy to share whatever the end result is- assuming you’re one of the people with the proper chirality for it.

At a slightly more sane hour of the cycle, Nihlus has reserved a time slot for the sim room, making sure that it’d get the power needed for the next couple of hours.

He’s also sent a ping the clone’s way.

And now he’s standing in the middle of the dimly lit room, arms crossed and idly wondering if this was the right choice. He is, after all, training someone with a history of being dangerous to be even more dangerous than she currently is.

The more he gets to know her, however, the more he gets the impression that the element of danger had mostly been Brooks. And it made sense: the clone wasn’t experienced enough, wasn’t mature enough- which is to be expected of someone who’d probably barely been over a year old by the time Brooks had deemed her ready to take down Shepard.

A year of living, all of it spent being trained to be someone else.

Sighing quietly, Nihlus stops himself from worrying at the chipped edge of his gauntlet.

When the day comes and the clone is outed, then earning her trust now could make the transition… decently nonviolent. She didn’t want to fight: he knows that after watching the way she’d started hoarding supplies during their visit to the Collectives. Still, if she ended up feeling cornered somehow, things could still get ugly.

As is, there’s a quiet guilt about not telling Shepard that her clone was onboard. Nothing for it right now. That’ll have to wait until he’s on more solid footing. He’d been hoping to gauge her reaction to the news of her copy onboard, but the woman had gone into cryo.

… Well, Shepards now, although Nihlus wasn’t quite as close to the newest edition of the Shepard Brigade.

Rescuing Tali had, in some respects, been fun. She likes field work, likes playing the hero (although she'd much rather it be for only humans), likes doing what she was trained to and what had been on the omni-tool she'd received in the Ingress.

Except she'd been painfully aware that it had also shown Nihlus her weaknesses, not only the mental drifting that still plagues her now, but the fact that her biotics are limited to Warp, not Throw or creating Lift Grenades nor any non-combat control the Sentinel Shepard of her timeline was capable of. There hadn't been time to learn everything, since she'd needed to learn combat tech as well. Brooks had promised she would hire the trainer again once she was firmly in place as Commander Shepard.

But Brooks had also said she was the only person she could trust, and that had turned out to be full of crap.

So it's with some trepidation that she reads Nihlus's summons, and doesn't reply except to show up at the sim room at the appropriate time.

"Nihlus," she greets him. "I didn't know you were qualified for amp calibration."

Not that she honestly thinks he wants to fix her amp (although if he does, she'll turn him down - he could be trying to neutralize her biotics entirely); you don't book out the sim room for technological work. But she does want to know what Nihlus does intend, given he knows she's a clone and isn't a biotic himself.

The sound of footsteps draws Nihlus out of his worrying. He looks up, inclining his head in his own greeting.

"I worked with a biotic for the better part of a decade." Closely with, even. "It was a useful skill to have."

There's a small stretch of silence, a moment where Nihlus just watches her, calculating what to say next, how he should say it, the possible outcomes. It lingers longer than he likes, but eventually...

"... I'm not here to address that particular issue however, although you're more than welcome if you should need it serviced." He folds his hands behind his back. "My concern is mostly related to your limited biotic abilities. If we're going into another situation similar to to the Outpost, you're going to need more than Warp to keep the situation under control. Especially if you end up without backup."

Briefly, he debates going through the whole spiel about her 'damaged' biotic amp, but at this point, he's pretty confident that she knows he knows about her being a clone. Everything after the the tank had been... well.

"So." And there's an oddly awkward angle to his shoulders now. "I am not a biotic by any means, but I know a lot of theory and I can... potentially teach you. More moves. If you'd like?"

Nihlus knows very well that she's a clone, but not only is he not turning her in to Shepard, he's offering to help her with her biotics. Her biotics which she's pretty sure he could guess from the redheaded Vanguard Shepard's report that she's used on Shepard and Tali and wouldn't hesitate to use on him the second he betrays her secret.

He never fails to confuse her.

"I worked more on my tech skills than my biotics." That's not actually a lie, though she did luck out receiving the real Shepard's omni-tool with Overload and Cryo Blast already programmed in. "So I've got those for... 'situations', and hand to hand if I lose my omni-tool."

She shifts onto her back foot, folding her arms with more than just the usual Nihlus level of discomfort. "But if you're willing - if you think you can do it... You can certainly try."

Edited (icon and word wrapping) 2016-08-22 07:30 (UTC)

In the end, Nihlus doesn't need her to understand. He needs her to find a way out of Shepard's shadow and he needs her to survive. Beyond that...

Well. That was up to her.

A few commands tapped through his MID and the room's gray, steel walls fade away, replaced by an expansive room with swooping ceilings. The walls are foiled and painted in brilliant golds and yellows, lit by tall, narrow windows. It's distinctly Thessian, specifically one of the republics in the planet's equatorial regions.

There's mural carved into the far wall featuring three Asari in long, flowing robes, embracing each other: a maiden, a matron and a matriarch in the center. Crowning the matriarch's head is a stylized representation of their sun and at their feet, painted in bright biotic-blue, lay a thick carpet of flowers.

Silence stretches out for a moment, Nihlus seemingly lost in his thoughts, fingers floating over his MID's screen. Eventually, he seems to shake off whatever it was that'd taken his thoughts for a bit, refocusing on the clone.

"Let's establish a baseline then. How well acquainted are you with physical mnemonics and the theory of biotic control?"

As the simulation begins to display, she turns around to take in the now unfamiliar surroundings, clear fascination in her eyes. Seeing new places is one of her favorite parts of being on the Moira (and something she never got with Brooks), even if this one is just a sim.

And then her eyes fall on the asari mural and she scowls. Great, because this room didn't have enough aliens in it.

While she waits, she curls her hands into fists, letting the pain of her nails digging into her palms anchor her to reality. Now is not the time for her mind and scar to wander, worse than whatever Nihlus is doing.

"Control's in the nervous system, activated by physical gestures which cause the neurons to fire and charge the eezo nodules," she rattles off. "I've used a mnemonic in front of you."

She doesn't bother with her jolted amp-induced amnesia excuse because he doesn't need it, but nor does she outright say that she didn't learn things. There are cameras on the ship; the inane murder trials had proved that.

"I don't think Saren's are going to work for me, though," she adds, lifting one hand and wiggling her five fingers to illustrate her point.

Edited (icon) 2016-09-02 10:41 (UTC)

"...."

Nihlus gives her a slightly amused blink at the finger wiggling.

"Saren Arterius was trained in advanced biotics by Matriarch Benezia herself." You know, someone with five fingers. "While there are some differences across species, the basics remain relatively similar."

As he talks the Spectre strides towards the middle of the room. There, a row of pillars rise up from the ornate flooring, the glowing white cubes that'd been resting on top of them floating up a couple of inches.

"I modeled this sim after one the training rooms in Benezia's temple." His voice is oddly distant at that, and he reaches out to brush his fingertips over one of the cubes, following the religious glyphs that'd be carved into them. "We'll see how this setup works for you."

Turning, the Turian summons what looks like grappling hook onto his omni-tool.

"Anyways, what do you want to learn? We'll start with that and work upwards."

She wrinkles her nose at the mention of this being modelled on something of Matriarch Benezia (clearly something human-based is too much to ask from a turian), but gives him a considering look at the question. Brooks never asked her what she wanted to learn. Brooks had always set the curriculum and the training schedule for each day, including with the biotics tutor she'd hired. The first thing she'd ever chosen for herself was letting go of the Normandy.

As questions go, it's a good one that she's actually thought about before, since she knows of a variety of biotic powers though not how to use them: Singularity always sounded useful for crowd control; Stasis for stopping people in their tracks. Barrier could add to her Tech Armor's defenses. Reave just sounds fun.

"Throw," she eventually decides. It builds on a basic she blatantly, desperately lacks, and it can also create explosions when combined with her Warp. Definitely something to work upwards from. She stretches her arms upwards, fingers uncurling from her usual half-fist to their full length, and eyes his omni-tool attachment curiously. "Ready when you are."

He's going to expose this child to all the alien culture he can manage to cram into these lessons, so help him Goddess. She can go ahead and make as many faces as she wants. And he knows she's making a face over there.

"Throw," Nihlus echoes thoughtfully, stepping back from the pillars and coming to a stop a little ways off to the side. He takes a moment to leaf through his memories: Saren had taken a good chunk of his apprenticeship to painstakingly break down how a non-biotic could deal with a biotic attack. Why biotics did things the way they did, how to disrupt mnemonics, how to break each form.

"First things first," he says, gesturing to one of the cubes. "Think you could show me your Warp again?"

Without a word, she forms the physical mnemonic. Both she and the cube glow blue before the cube gets brutally ripped to pieces. There's very little effort apparent in her physical gesture, for all that the movement's clean and efficient enough to make an Alliance military biotic trainer proud. She may only do one thing, but she does it very well.

Saren would've probably had something to pick at. Saren always did.

From the perspective of someone who'd have made it his job to break the form though, Nihlus didn't see anything that needed criticism. He watches the cube neatly implode with a thoughtful hum.

"That's good," he murmurs. A Joker out there was probably getting irritated for no discernible reason.

With a flick of his hand, the cube reforms and he turns back to her.

"Whoever taught you knew what to do with their time limit." Nihlus inclines his head slightly. "Warp isn't a very common first-form for a good reason, but they took the time to make sure you learned it well."

There was no 'safe' way to learn Warp first though. Either the clone succeeded or she failed and revealed the flaw in Brooks's plans early on. The thought makes Nihlus frown quietly, but he doesn't voice it.

"It's a good basis at any rate. You're familiar with how your powers work in relation to the space around you. Tell me, how do you know where to place the singularity?"

Edited 2016-12-13 13:08 (UTC)

She presses her lips together, mildly confused. Warp had been a struggle to learn, so much so that they'd skipped other biotic abilities in favor of her tech work. The recognition of this and praise in spite of it is weird. Brooks and the merc she'd hired to train her hadn't wasted time on compliments; there had been only repetition to make sure she'd truly learnt and could replicate it or moving on to the next thing.

The question's easier to deal with. Trying to shake off the odd feeling, she shrugs. "Where you want the most damage," she says. "Whether that's attacking the structural weak points or wearing something down or trying to affect the area around it. Throw it with that in mind and you can stop it where it should be."

"Throw is a bit more... utilitarian," Nihlus begins as he flicks his omni-tool on again and starts rendering a mesh-form of the Warp point, including representations of the gravity waves rippling outwards. "Unlike a lot of the mnemonics that we've inherited from the Asari, the Warp was created from conception to be used as a weapon by Commandos."

He tosses the projection out and enlarges it until it's about the proper realistic size for a point before moving it so that it hovered a few meters away from the target cube.

"Throw has a bit more of a humble origin, mostly being used for general cargo transport. Using it in combat isn't really about creating as much destruction as you can manage in an enclosed space. It's more about... thinking two steps ahead."

From the point, Nihlus renders an arc in bright orange with the point as it anchor, stretching it out so that it swung neatly over the cube.

"Throw is a lot like Warp, but it's... opposite as far as I have heard it described. More energy efficient. Lighter. You set down the point and then you push the field so that it pushes outwards rather than pulling in. Does that make sense?"

Her eyes are keen on the projection, though she barely listens to the history lesson. She doesn't care about asari commandos unless she's fighting them, and she knows that Throw and other telekinetic biotic abilities aren't just for combat the way Warp is.

The part about Throw being the opposite to Warp is what she pays attention to. Flexing her fingers, she goes through the motions of a Warp mnemonic, but in reverse, more of a push than a pinch, and she deliberately tamps down the biotics that flicker to life in an unfamiliar sequence of nodes.

"So far," she says. With one finger, she sketches out an arc in the air like the one on the cube, so unlike that of Warp.

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It’s 3am and It’s Time for Cheesy Romance Movies

my hand slipped

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It’s 3 am and it’s Time to Cook

Aug 3 - Biotic Training Shenanigans For Cloney

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just call me a zombie shambling through backtags for your BRAINS (feel free to ignore)