Ghosts, - Closed for my awesome -

[TincyWorm]

((OOC: Emo and longpost warning. Thanks for reading if you do! These two first met in Advance and Follow))

06:00 a.m./Martis/2200
Central Palaven, on the outskirts of Vallum
Sentire Vallumis, the rehabilitation Center

Punctuality. It was one of the most well known defining characteristics of a disciplined turian, loyal to the Hierarchy, and loyal to the Cause. A turian not unlike Oisir Furin ra Ontarr, who, regardless of her current unpleasant situation, took great pride in this aforementioned punctuality. It allowed her to wake up during the early hours of the morning. Before the sunrise even; this in turn, granted her ample time to observe and examine her naked reflection. The stare in her own vivid, aquamarine orbs was surprisingly dispassionate. They searched and both assessed all those subtle changes brought on by years of substance abuse, withdrawal, and her inability to eat. For the past months that she had spent in this place, she noticed something new and worrying every Spirit forsaken day.

This time, for example, she noted that no matter how many layers of luxurious waxy ointments she applied to them, her cream colored platings were slowly, yet steadily, beginning to loose their sheen. They also felt brittle and thin on top of her leathery hide. Yet despite this, they felt heavy. It was almost as if they were somehow collapsing ontop of her, preparing to crush her slender, sickeningly thin frame that would not stop it's constant quivering. Then of course, there were all those other imperfections that had accumulated over her fifty four, seemingly long years of life. Her natural armor was riddled with innumerable little cracks, gashes, lacerations, and, even old bullet wounds. The most noticable one however, was the very visible mark on the side of her neck. Left there by an ancient dominus, an elder master who had perished due to his own idiocy and instinctual rage. Shame; she would have wished to find out more about Kihilix Terrandus. She did not, under any circumstances however, mourn the passing of a male who had reduced her to a slave like instrument of desires.

With a sigh, she lifted her right, twig like arm up and let her stare wonder onto the little device that had been attached to her wrist. Upon being admitted, the staff had removed her omni tool and replaced it with this unsightly little bracelet. It monitored her heart rate, blood pressure, breathing and other vital functions.

Sentire Vallumis was a rehabilitation center, a very well kept and an expensive one at that. Some even claimed that it was supposedly the best one on all of Palaven. They repaired the mentally damaged and cleansed those unfortunate spirits who had been polluted by addictive substances. And made sure that their patients would, in time, be of use to the Hierarchy. Again. Still, for one reason or another that escaped Oisir's comprehension, they did not allow their patients to have any uncontrolled contact with the outside world. In truth, this did not bother the once proud commander. Her sister, a handful of her friends, and even her firstborn, Kalnus, could visit her on certain days, regardless of how much or little progress she had made. Though, what did bother her was the lack of privacy. Turning on the balls of her predatory feet, she reached out and selected her outfit for the day, mostly forrest green in color. Satisfied with the choices, she forced herself to move with what ever grace she could muster, and sashayed out of the closet.

The room that they had placed her in was possibly the best one on the entire facility. Comfortably and luxuriously furnished, it even offered a relaxing, cliché ocean view. Complete with a rather suspicious looking personal guard who observed every single thing she did. The self destruction or suicide of an innocent who had not broken against their people in anyway would be considered as a blatant waste of life, after all. Oisir however, was not innocent; far from it. No, she was merely the offspring of a very wealthy historian and a famous general. She flared her mandibles and smiled bitterly at the thought.

The guard who stood at his post, near the private lift that connected the room to the rest of the facility, looked troubled. The lithe, nude female came to a halt right in front of him, and with intentional, hypnotizingly slow moves, she proceeded to dress up. This type of behaviour was quite unbecoming of her. But Oisir was bored, so terribly bored of ceaseless, idle chats with her personal psychotherapist as well as the rest of the patients with their various, tiresome afflictions. Hence, she would most certainly prefer to entertain herself with these almost infantile quirks.

Making sure that the fabric of the shirt was pleasingly taut against her prominent chest plate, Oisir perfected her posture and stood absolutely still. Her eyes stared directly into the guard's green ones; yet she did not acknowledge the younger, armed turian with any gesture, sound or motion. After several heartbeats, the device on her wrist commenced beeping. To a normal patient, this signalled the start of a new day. To Oisir, it signalled that it was time to go down and pretend that all was well while she ambled about the halls. Only now did she tilt her head at the guard. ”I wish you a most wonderful morning, Inodiar. Tell me, how is your colleague?” The colleague in question had been the unfortunate target of an uncontrolled, uncharacteristic burst of ire from her about four weeks ago. And this had been one of the milder side effects of drug withdrawal. Her therapists had not, surprisingly, expected such behaviour from her, and precautions had notbeen taken. As a result, she had spent the following week restrained to a bed. ”Wonderful morning, ma'am. Recovering. Might even be able to see with both eyes soon again.”

The doors of the high tech lift made a barely audible whirring noise as they slid open. ”Good. I am glad.” She stated, as he followed her silently into the lift that swiftly took them both down to the lower levels of the building. The gentle, still peaceful rays of Palaven's morning sun seeped through the reinforced giant windows that gave life to the colossal edifice. It wasn't entirely silent. A nurse and a tiny group of guards marched by busily as Oisir started for the lounge. Even so, both her and Inodiar's footsteps seemed to cause an almost offensive amount of noise as their clefted boots impacted against the clinical, polished marble floors.

The staff by now, were more that familiar with her habbits. While the patients usually had to abide by a strict, tailored schedule, they welcomed her strict self discipline. Just as much as they welcomed the fact she woke up way earlier than most of the other inhabitants. Her personal nutritionist was waiting for her in the furthest corner of the space, on a needlessly plush sofa. There were one or two other patients down here too. But she did not acknowledge or even notice them, save for a brief, polite nod that served as a greeting.

Oisir's mind was too occupied with questions and chaos. She wondered how much longer her body could and would endure the emaciation. She wanted to eat; in fact, her appetite was even vast and ravenous. And yet she could not bring herself to do it, her system simply refused food. Intravenous nutrient solutions could only sustain one for so long. She wished to survive, really. But an insistent, plagueing voice at the back of her spiky skull kept pointing out that she would die soon.

[Dymhsa]

The chair was just large and spacious enough to be uncomfortably big. Idly rubbing the right arm rest of the giant, plush white chair, a turian pointed his grey face plates to the area where the wall met the floor on the opposite side of the room. Other than this he did not move, he did not speak. His brilliant blue eyes gazed without knowing the beautiful view of Palaven that the windows, hanging just above that little area that he stared to, offered him. An onlooker could easily be understood for thinking the turian was pensive, but the turian’s mind was all but empty. Empty, except for the occasional mental reminder that he was alive, and that this chair was just too large to be uncomfortable. He did not let his mind linger upon anything else as thinking about anything else tended to lead to unbearable sorrow.

Arkadan Ketan sat in the lobby of a particularly luxurious ward on the famous Sentire Vallumis rehabilitation center, only arriving on Palaven a week ago, and being moved to this ward yesterday. A thin, white in-patient shirt sat taught and gentle on top of his chest plates, still freshly ironed and wrinkle-free, as if it had been placed on a statue and never disturbed. The pristine sleeves of the clothing trailed down along the entire length of his arms, which rested on the large arm-rests of the chair as his thumb gently scraped up and down on the fabric of the furniture. Matching pants adorned his waist and legs, appearing just as pristine and unbothered as the shirt. The sun dazzled brilliantly, its rays shining through the glass, bouncing brilliantly off Arkadan’s striking sapphire eyes and silver plates.

From his wrist came a small, unobtrusive little beeping sound which normally would have heralded the start of another long, arduous day of existence. He had been transported the this ward secretly last night, and allowed to roam its halls under escort of armed guards, which he still did not fully trust. He had been sitting there, barely shifting since before the Palaven sun rose up to beam through the windows sitting in front of him. Everything had to be done in secret, and he always had to have at least one guard to not only make sure Arkadan did not lash out against others, but also to act as a barrier between any Cerberus personnel that may come looking to bring back their asset.

However, this small beep managed to knock him out of his almost trance-like stare for just a moment. For the first time since he had taken position in the large chair his mandibles moved, twitching once before his eyes lazily averted their gaze to the small band around his wrist, and looked at the dimly glowing numbers. It was not the first time that his wished for them to be zeros, or dashes, or for the thing to continue beeping frantically, alerting anyone around that he was slipping into final, blissful sleep. But no, the little device did not oblige him, and its beeping stopped after its gentle reminder to get ready for the day. Arkadan sighed silently; his empty chest felt massive pressure suddenly as he expelled his breath, as if it was being crushed violently underneath some heavy vehicle. He quickly shoved any and all thoughts and emotions to the side, his eyes returning their stare to its old position on the floor.

As he stared, the distant background of the facility grew alive with groggy sounds of conversation and activity as everyone around did their morning routine. Ark tried desperately to ignore it, as he had no idea how to feel around others, especially his own kind. Part of him wanted to be disgusted with them, another part just wanted to cry for forgiveness, but he wanted neither. While he knew he was being tested to see how he would react around others in a controlled environment, all he wanted to do was curl up and be alone. Another sound, however, began to fill the room and prevent his eyes from slipping back completely into the trance they had found themselves in since the early morning hours.

The very obtrusive sound of at least two pairs of talons making their way down the polished halls of the facility had distracted him yet again from the complete emptiness. Drawing a heavy breath, Arkadan allowed his eyes to follow the cause of this sound. A tall, astonishingly thin female followed by a single guard seemed to be the source of the clacking and its ever increasing volume. He did not stare, it was hard enough to muster up the will to even look, let alone care enough to stare, but he couldn’t help but notice something familiar about one of the two. The notion was dispelled just as quickly as it came. It might not have been healthy, but it was easier and much less painful to even acknowledge the presence of others right now. Feeling the muscle under his plates involuntarily tighten just a bit, he decided to go back to staring at the floor and wall.

The thin female proceeded to enter the lobby, taking seat near a physician of some sort and proceeded to discuss something. Ark’s blue eyes did not notice it though, not even taking in a glimpse of another turian figure since the guard and thin female had walked past his field of vision. Some semblance of curiosity did grasp him eventually though, and he turned his head ever slowly to try and get a better look at what was going on nearby. Although he did not stare, he was at least able to take in what the thin patient, the rehabilitation worker, and her guard all seemed to be doing. Perhaps it would make the time until his next session pass a bit more quickly.

[TincyWorm]

That plump little female nutritionist. How she droned on and on in that vexatious manner. Not to mention the way she flapped her mandibles to the rhythm of her own, very sanctimonious tone. Ah, but of course. Apparently the little (or rather lacking) progress in the treatment and recovery program was -oh so- disappointing. Food was an important part of this process if she wished to survive! She did wish to survive and be a productive member of society again, correct? The Hierarchy absolutely -needed- turians like her! Loosing such a noble soldier (tsk tsk) would be a great, great shame indeed.

The only thing that kept Oisir from balling one of her talons up into a fist and striking the short female then, was the trademark cold patience of sniper. Long ago, she had been forced to learn this particular type of forbearance in precision marksmanship training. Albeit the lessons had been painstakingly arduous, she found herself feeling profoundly grateful for them. Then again, in truth, she strongly doubted her feeble body could muster enough energy to commit such an action, anyway. And, it was certainly not the first time her auricular senses were subjected to this pointless, repetitive verbiage.

This same Spirit forsaken cycle had been repeated every morning since her arrival in this faux haven for the wretched, save for the week she had spent being restrained to a bed. In these early hours of the morning, some nutritionist would give a winded exhort and emphasize how gaining weight would be vital for her survival. The well fed female sitting on her soft rump in front of Oisir was the third such individual she had had the... pleasure of getting acquainted with. Her pristine, undamaged facial plates were slowly beginning to radiate heat as she gave an in depth explanation about the 'exclusive and uniquely prepared' meals that would be on 'Mrs. Ra Ontarr's menu today. It was almost as if all this talking was exhausting to her; even if she was comfortably nestled among the plush seating of the couch.

How someone like her, someone as young and unfit, had obtained second tier citizenship or anything beyond that, both failed and escaped Oisir's comprehension. Then again, credits and connections could get you anything, even in the Hierarchy. She despised her. Despised this huffing, puffing self important little pile of plates as weak as clay. It was enough to rouse Oisir's well concealed repugnance.

Deciding to violate what was considered as the 'respectful distance' between the staff and the patients, Oisir took exactly two, slow steps towards the sitting female, and tilted her head. Her arms though, stayed still at her sides, hinting composure and tranquility. Behind her, she could sense how Ionidar was keeping vigil over the situation, how his eyes were drilling and staring at her back intently. No doubt his digits were well prepared to apply pressure to the trigger of the elaborate tranquilizer gun he carried. Ignoring this, she cleared her throat, disregarded the apparent terror in the other turian's beady crimson eyes and suspired.

”What a truly wonderful, enlightening moment this has been. I most honorably commend you for the fluency that you apply to your diction. You may leave me at peace now. In fact, I humbly apologize but I believe I must insist on this.” Her words, albeit excessively polite, still held an obvious, condescending undertone. The therapist dropped her datapad to the polished floor with a loud clank as she stared up at Oisir in utter disbelief. ”But... Mrs. Ra Ontarr, I, but...” Such a dense, tongue tied creature. ”Ah, I see that I must repeat myself. Perhaps my request did not quit reach the capacity of your comprehension? Fair enough. You may leave me at peace. -Now.- ” And this time, she flared her mandibles, and clicked them back loudly against the sides of her jaws.

By the time Oisir rotated her body around to face the guard (who was doing a poor job of disguising his amused expression) the plump little idiot was busily scuttling away (or rather rolling, in her case). There were other deplorable spirits that needed tending to. She knew the grave ness of her situation. How her body was collapsing, getting weaker with every heartbeat. Willingness however, was something she certainly did not lack. Oisir wanted to eat, wanted nothing else than to be able to stuff her face, especially with sugary confectioneries. The kind that left a delicious, sticky mess on one's fangs. But her body, her very system rejected food. And would eventually surrender to death that somehow seemed to loom over this entire facility, really.

Closing her vivid, turquoise orbs, she stretched her neck up and rotated her stiff, bony shoulders. As she stood there, mulling over her own, forthcoming end and the struggle against it... It felt as if just for a heartbeat, the atmosphere of this lounge was full of pure, benevolent Spirits and energies that desperately wanted to aid her, wanted her to stay alive. This inexplicable sensation did not wane away even as she opened her eyes again and scanned the room for the possible source. There was seemingly none, save perhaps for the pleasant morning sun that painted the walls and the floor with it's pleasant, warm rays. The same individuals, patients and the guards, were still there. The ones that still possessed a scintilla of sanity in their fragmented minds, only now their carapaces were being washed in the natural illumination. One of them, a tiny male, seemed to be eyeing his surroundings in a rather furtive manner. His surroundings or... rather the very spot she was standing on.

At first glance, there was seemingly nothing extraordinary about him, his iron gray platings or the complex navy blue markings that riddled his visage. She did not recognize the colony or the specific part of Palaven they represented. In addition, he was clothed in those white, distasteful patient's garments. A sign that he was undergoing, or recovering from some sort of intensive treatment. They seemed clinically clean and amazingly wrinkle free, so.. No doubt then, that the wearer had an appreciation for self discipline. Surely, though, he was not the causal agent of those odd, otherworldly sensations she had experienced just moments ago? And thusly, Oisir began to question her instincts. Or rather, if they too, were finally beginning to falter and fail at this juncture. No. Not possible. Something about him did tug at the edges of her still lucid mind. The manner in which he just observed.

Was it his stare then, that she had felt upon her persona while towering over the therapist? His eyes, those gorgeous, strikingly blue sapphire orbs were observing her with timid curiosity. Though the expression on his visage seemed somehow distant. Detached.

Spiritless.

Deciding then, that these reasons were enough to well and truly spark her curiosity, Oisir strutted over to him. Her steps were rhythmic, her motions graceful; even if her clothes fluttered and flowed around her starved frame. He was not, in fact, even half as diminutive as what he appeared to be. If anything, his physique was well healthy, toned even. But he seemed to be huddling up, almost as if he wanted to somehow disappear into the fabric of the couch he was seated on. Her body then, seemed to react to the other's presence involuntarily. She did not notice how her digits began to rub an old bullet wound in her leg. Twenty two years, to be exact. Old memories were rising to the surface of her consciousness. Memories of a brief, simple operation she had led back then, as a proud, already then a slightly broken commanding officer. Involving the annihilation of a pirate vessel that had been unfortunate enough to venture too far into Hierarchy space. This male in white, huddling in front of her. She recognized him. His eyes, in particular.

Though much to her shock, they didn't radiate the same purity or fierce determination as they had so many years ago. These qualities had been replaced by an almost heartbreaking hollowness. And... ”Arkadan Ketan... ?” She inquired, her voice polite yet careful, experimental. Yes. Her memory, or her instincts had not failed her. Not yet. ”How wonderful to see you again! Oh please, may I sit? ” The recognition, as much as she hated to admit, almost strained her, made her feebler still. Or perhaps she was simply shocked to see this male who she had so long ago seen as an almost innocent, uncorrupted soldier.

[Dymhsa]

Arkadan drew small shallow breathes through his nostrils. Barely enough for him to feel pressure building inside of his prominent chest plate before exhaling without fanfare. Just enough air to keep him conscious, even when he wasn’t particularly sure he wanted to stay so. His frame and body stayed still on the large chair he sat in, staying as motionless as the piece of furniture, wishing that he could just blend into the room and disappear from existence. Although his empty, hollow stare had drifted slightly towards the other end of the room, his mind still wandered, trying not to think of anything in particular. Most things were simply too painful to linger on.

Although there had been something familiar about the thin female, with her too-thin frame and her guard in tow, Ark’s wavering attention shifted to his breathing. The room smelled so fresh that it practically stung his nostrils, and so clinical that he felt like even he, freshly and thoroughly bathed with clean clothes was somehow dirtying it with his presence. He would have likened it to the scent of fresh carpet, and almost found it offensive. So he manually controlled his breathing for a time, keeping it shallow and wishing that he could create a deficit of something his body needed, allowing him to fall into a blissful slumber.

The morning Palaven sun slowly crept over the horizon and into a clear sky, allowing more brilliant glimmers of light to brighten the place with a fresh morning glow. The rays continued to shine and gleam off of the turian’s iron markings, lightening his intensely pure white garments, and warming his otherwise sensation-less plates. His tired conscious could not stand vigil in keeping his mind free forever though, and for a moment he his mind let slip the curiosities about the room, and into foggy memory.

Though his body was still and in the safety of the rehabilitation center, he felt the same tug on his arm that he felt early in the morning, not two weeks ago. The voice of a female, though not one of his species pleading with him to awaken, trying to feign a pleasant tone and failing, letting panic and unease linger about the air. Ark was tired and wished to sleep, but did as he was told, squinting his tired eyes as they painfully adjusted to the harsh light. He didn’t awaken right away, as the voice assured him that there was no hurry, despite the hasty speed of her actions. She did lightly tug at his arm, but instead of pulling his body up it was meant to pull his mind out of the tired blackness of his sleep. He felt strangely sluggish, otherwise he would have jumped right up in respect and to learn of what was going on.

His legs felt heavy, yet Ark managed to tense his muscles and pull them up, allowing his knees to bend and better support his attempts to rise. He needed to get up at least to a sitting position, he was so spirit forsaken tired and lethargic; he even felt as though he might collapse. Yet he slowly lifted his back off of the soft mattress, bringing his chest to legs, even wrapping his right arm around one of them for support. Despite the harshness of the light in the room, being randomly awakened, and so sluggish, he was mad at his spur of all things as it grazed his arm – though he didn’t quite understand why he would dislike it. Before he could even turn his tired head, Ark heard a distant voice echo in the distance inquiring about Iscariot to the young doctor.

Suddenly a jolt of pain shot through him, though his only response was to blink once, and then another time as the sun’s rays blinded his sight. His muscles tensed, especially under his facial plates as a multitude of terrible memories and thoughts barreled through his mind like water from a dam that had suddenly faltered and collapsed under the pressure. Then nothing. His mind swept it all to the side to focus on his breathing again, his nostrils bringing in air at quicker pace. His body had not budged, staying as still as it ever was before he had gotten lost in the memory.

His attention, free from the tight grip of the recent figment, was now free to focus on what his vacant eyes had been peering at this entire time. He did not know or care about how much time had passed. In fact, more would have been better. However, it seemed he had returned from his daydream in time to peer at the vexing female talk to the much rounder one, the guard behind her bearing a slightly more perturbed expression than Ark’s mind could remember. The taller, thinner female stood, taking a few steps after the plump one finished saying something. Being across the room, he could not exactly hear the faintest hint of what they were discussing, though it seemed rather pointless. She spoke once, then twice, before the thick little therapist stood and scuttled away.

Ark became lost again for a brief moment, with just how the fabric of his patient shirt felt between the couch and the weight of his arm plates. But he was simply too curious now, now that there was movement across the room. He felt a gaze upon him, the turquoise gaze of the familiar patient across the room, and the feeling of a more distant memory swept over him. Though his mind was not ripe for remembering such a distant thing, he still felt it, felt as it became alive in the deepest recesses of his mind. She even began a deliberate saunter over towards him, slender legs sauntering gracefully across the empty hall. Not able to keep his curious stare off of the female, he let his sapphire eyes grace her with their subtle, broken gaze.

Despite not talking to anyone except therapists since he had arrived here, he could not say that he was particularly worried or stressed over an interest this person seemed to take in him. Although he was curious, he still felt just as empty as ever, as he continued to breathe his shallow breaths, following her with his eyes, observing every action that her lithe figure performed. She stepped in front of him, peering down with an odd, almost mournful gaze. He could feel her inspecting him quickly, and his eyes looked towards her, though not to her face. Her talon stopped on her leg during this brief moment…

”Arkadan Ketan... ? How wonderful to see you again! Oh please, may I sit?”

A needle ran straight through his chest the moment the smooth sound of her flanged voice drifted past his otic opening. It had been so long since somebody had simply called him by that name aloud and spontaneously. It caused his mandibles to nudge inward slightly, and his striking blue eyes slowly turned upwards to this person, his whole system rattled with shock, though he was still too blank emotionally to become jumpy over such a thing. His shallow breathing had stopped, the pain and pressure in his chest preventing any oxygen at all to fill his lungs with the shallow, almost non-existent breaths he had been taking. He forced his muscles to draw in a long, shaky, silent gasp of air.

“Go ahead… ,” Arkadan’s words rang clear through the lobby, despite the shaky manner of which he had taken in the air he used to produce it. The guard standing about five paces off to his side, had straightened himself and turned his head towards the two turians upon seeing this event starting to take place.

His chest still hurt, heavy with pressure on his otherwise hollow shell. He had absolutely no idea of what to think of this female that obviously knew him; his eyes shimmered up at her with a small spark of curiosity. Deep turquoise pools stared down at him, shaded from the brilliant rays due to their owner facing away from the sun, they still shone brightly in their dark alcoves. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name,” the turian blinked, his shell of a mind still empty, fighting back any emotion that threatened to flood his thoughts. It was painful enough to hear somebody call him by that name again, he did not want to deal with other things. At least not now, maybe not ever.

[TincyWorm]

Several moments had idly wasted away in absolute silence. It was as if this male, this once virtuous soldier had been struck physically by the simple, harmonious tonality of her voice. It seemed to take the other turian an eternity and more before he finally reacted. His mandibles tightened even further against the sides of his angular jaws. And only then, did he finally turn his gaze upwards and onto her plated visage. Cracked, slightly damaged, marked by shades of lavender and shadowy umber.

No reflection there, in those slightly sunken, striking saphire orbs; albeit they still seemed to dazzle, if with a rather chilling quality. No signs of recognition, no familiarity, no... warmth. But Oisir kept on staring at him with a tranquil, patient mien. Regardless of the increasing nausea and the pounding migraine that had now developed somewhere inside her sharp skull. She had long ago been coached to ignore personal discomforts in the name of grace, beauty, etiquette, and once again, discipline.

Arkadan too, seemed to be obviously suffering from discomfort. At least, bizarrely enough, a self induced one. The male was holding his breath. The blindingly white, crisp in patient shirt did not tighten against his angular, sharp chest plate. Not even when he finally, much to her relief, inhaled. It was almost as if he had been trying to intentionally respire in hushed, restrained little gasps in order to loose consciousness. Though... surely, this could not be the case. No pure blooded turian could possibly seek self harm of that extent.

“Go ahead… ,” ... “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name,”

At first, Oisir had felt some mild form of contentment when her auricular senses registered his voice. Though even then, they had sounded so feeble and wavering somehow. Dismissing this as a result of his strange method of respiration, she prepared to lift one bony leg in order to step sideways and set herself down. And then the next wave of hushed syllables slithered out of his maw that hung agape limply. Oblivious to the now alert state of the guards, she clicked her mandibles shut and pursed her plated lips.

Brushing her bottle green outfit taut against her derriere, the sickeningly thin turian finally allowed herself to sit down next to him. It took Oisir all the will she could possibly muster to not just give into her body's demands and flop down onto the couch. Her gums felt terribly constricting and way too tight around her keen fangs. Most of which were, lamentably enough, faux due to her long gone bond mate knocking them out. She couldn't look at him, couldn't bring herself to face him. That hollow vacant shell that was now devoid of the unique, almost fierce purity she so vividly remembered. He, Arkadan, seemed to be just as cursed and plagued as she was. And... lost somehow. Now, if ever, she wished to shoot up Ghost Blood, and wished to get lulled into that comfortable, falsely safe numbness.

Spirits guide me.

"Please. Do not apologize. My name does not withhold a lot of significance. I assumed the role of your Commander a long time ago. I am Oisir Furin ra Ontarr." Her voice was a barely audible whisper that somehow seeped with utter defeat. Crossing her talons gracefully in her lap, she tortured her body, kept her back from sinking into the plush couch. Both of her legs stayed together as she slid them to the side in an elegant manner. Like a perfect, posable doll with a flawless posture. And yet, she was unaware of how the very tips of her clefted shoes were making slight contact with the male's leg.

Eyes of aquamarine were gleaming in the gentle luminosity as they saw memories: Swirling, twisting, razzmatazzing in the far distance, far beyond the confines of this facility. "It is rather common for me to remember others. I consider it... a gift of sorts. And, it is just as common for others to forget me. I do not, however, quite know what to make of that." Oisir wished she would have had her jewel encrusted, wickedly sharpened mexta here. She wanted to pry and cut out that diminutive, entereal feeding device they had stuck in her abdomen. Suddenly, and inexplicably, it had began to truly disturb her. "I despise this place." She suspired.

A failed mother. A failed widow. A failed Captain. What would come next... ? A failed... ra Ontarr? A failed turian, when the force fed nutrient paste would no longer suffice to keep her alive?

[Dymhsa]

A heavy tongue set itself down against the front bottom part of the inside of his dry maw, nudging and resting up against the backs of his fangs. Much like the rest of him, the dry mass felt heavy and weighted, yet strangely hollow. To his surprise he had not only managed to form the words, but he had also directed them at what could have very well been a complete stranger. His weak sapphire gaze held small embers of curiosity and suspense. So he chose not to focus on the dry, lazy muscle in his maw, but on the frame of the tall turian before him, the morning light casting a shimmering aura of sunlit warmth.

This female knew very well who he was, and likewise he knew that buried deep within the recesses of his mind there were vivid memories. At least on some level within himself he knew this. But for the moment he was only able to watch, breathlessly, in anticipation of what she would do. The thirst for this knowledge was satisfied almost as quickly as it had come to him, as she continued what a single leg started before he interrupted with his weak statement. Her lithe body gracefully lowered to sit next to him; her frame so thin and movements so fluid that he thought a slight breeze would make her phantasmal figure simply dissolve into the air and be carried away.

The turian still held his breath as the female sunk slightly into the couch next to him, his mind once again unable to sustain focus on a single thought. His vision drifted to the turquoise eyes embedded in their umbral visage as he drew his first breath after having held it since he had first answered her question. Shaky and uncertain, this breath caused a slight breeze to drift across the turian’s nostrils as his mind finally comprehended to full meaning of this situation.

It had been a very, very long time since he had last spoken freely to one of his own species – since he had been able to really have a casual conversation such as the one he was about to have. His mind continued to race behind what he tried to keep demeanor which he tried to keep calm and robotically controlled. What would they talk about? He had literally nothing that he could comfortably add to this conversation, other than cold, single word responses. Despite his best efforts he now simply wanted, more than anything else in the universe, to simply fade away from his pathetic existence.


"Please. Do not apologize. My name does not withhold a lot of significance. I assumed the role of your Commander a long time ago. I am Oisir Furin ra Ontarr."

And there it was. The flanged syllables travelled through the air, hitting his otic openings, and dragging his attention away from his worrisome mind to the female in front of him, whose striking aquamarine eyes had never left his gaze. Oisir. Hearing that voice speak that name made him feel younger by at least two decades as it stirred memories from beneath the murky waters of time and to the surface of his mind. Simply hearing her speak made his maw drop slightly, and tore the veil off of his rigid stare, allowing his eyes to dance with small movements as he peered at her cracked facial plates. He had only forgotten the female by name…

He also felt a slight brush on his leg. This, too, stirred and agitated his mind but in a much different way than the voice did. Not very long ago his own kind had been the enemy, not to be trusted, and to him they were even disgusting animals. The very touch against his leg brought forth a sudden, distasteful feeling of annoyance, and it showed in his narrowing eyes. Though, he quickly realized this and the sensations faded to sorrow over it…

"It is rather common for me to remember others. I consider it... a gift of sorts. And, it is just as common for others to forget me. I do not, however, quite know what to make of that… I despise this place."

In Oisir’s eyes sat a gentle gleam that rested upon him. Ark could feel warmness emanate from it that touched the very core of his being as it was not simply a sympathetic stare of another rehabilitation worker, but a stare of a turian who he remembered and had altered his life. As his maw slowly slid further agape, his mandibles following suite and his head slightly rising he wondered if he would even be able to form words. Spirits his extremities still weighed him down with a heavy emptiness, and like the words he wondered if he might never be able to move them by his own power again.

“I’ve not been here long enough to despise it,” A sorrowful, blank yet slightly unsure tone accompanied the words and Arkadan Ketan drew in a deep, shaky breath after finishing the sentence. Trying his best, he forced his heavy, hesitant arms to his lap so that his talons might mimic Oisir with talons clasping in his lap. The motion only took a fraction of a second, yet it felt like an eternity to the turian. As he felt his talons come close together he continued, “I’ve not forgotten you either… only your name.” Vivid memories continued to flash through his mind; all would be quite pleasant if it were not for the unfortunate reality of what lead him here.

“You helped to shape me into a strong soldier,” And after a brief pause he added, “For the hierarchy.” A pensive expression swept across his softening features, unable to keep his face blank with the tsunami of emotions whirling just underneath. He remembered most of what she had said to him before they last parted, and what he told her was truth. The female had placed more than a few large blocks of the foundation that he built his career upon. He believed he even still had a certain gift she parted to him all those years ago.

But this was too much for him to focus on, and instead he directed his thoughts to her. “I’m surprised that we’ve managed to find each other again after so long. In… here of all places. I hope everything is well with you, considering where you’re at. I’m curious, how have the spirits guided you through the years?” While he was truly curious as to what Oisir had been through and how she was doing, it was more of a redirection than anything else. The irresolute tone and uneasy patterns of his speech made it clear to anyone that he was just that, and that he was in danger of simply breaking down mentally.

Desperately, Arkadan wanted to forget why he was here and fill his mind with why Oisir was.

[TincyWorm]

Morning mist. Aerial, phantasmal, and so delicate; and when it's existence came to it's eventual cessation, it would simply dissipate and gracefully fade away into the air. For just a fleeting moment, she likened herself to that intangible, auroral veil that blanketed the nature. She sat there, observing her surroundings. How wonderful would it be, to simply vanish? And roam Palaven's nature again, as a tranquil neonate come the next break of dawn?

Such a blissful fate however, or even anything like it, was far and impossibly beyond Oisir's reach. Spirits guide her; she had so many duties to attend to. The various responsibilities of a failed individual: Her offspring still 'needed' her, or so they claimed. Her sister, her family, the rest of the ra Ontarr's supposedly 'needed' her. There was the Hierarchy that apparently 'absolutely required her services', too. In one way or another. You only die/ For the cause. / For your people / For us all.

Perhaps... perhaps Arkadan needed her too, then? Or maybe she was simply delusional and was attempting to trick her own psyche into believing a desperate fabrication. Turning her head slightly, she let her smooth if brittle plates catch and scatter some of the intensifying natural light as her vivid orbs of aquamarine peered down at the male. Arkadan. Ark. He appeared to be so very shattered somehow. Broken, destroyed... even lost. Lost, like a vulnerable little insect without it's colony. It was almost as if her voice, even her words, had somehow damaged him further. Or that they were rather drilling deep into the confines of his mind. Inciting cogitations, recollections, emotions.

The look in his dazzling saphire eyes hinted profound misery and unspeakable grief. Though, for perhaps just a second, something else seemed to flash by in those cryptic pools, too. Yet much to her shame, Oisir failed to fully analyze it. Recognition, something positive. If it wouldn't have been for all the schooling that had been imposed upon her, concerning what was socially acceptable... (for a noble female) She would have simply leaned over, and let her forehead crest glide and make gentle contact against his. Her mind was being violently torn between and betwixt etiquette and personal desire.

After what seemed to be an honest eternity of sitting absolutely and perfectly still, Oisir finally caught a glimpse of his jaws sliding open slowly. His fangs. They all appeared to be pristine, well kept, and natural. In essence, the polar opposite to her own cuspids. Regardless of whatever malediction Arkadan Ketan might have been carrying deep within the essence that was him, he was still the very image of a salubrious, vital male: A fiercely toned physique, adorned by tough hide and rigid plates with an iron lustre. All concealed under the fabric of that impeccably clean in patient shirt. A start contrast to his forlorn aura.

“I’ve not been here long enough to despise it,” / “I’ve not forgotten you either… only your name.”

The words had an amazingly feeble quality about them as they vibrated in the air and reached her otic openings. Nevertheless, Oisir would have lied had she claimed that hearing them had not enlivened her heart. Even if he had failed to recall her actual denomination. In all this time, in all these weeks that she had wasted being condemned to this abyss, this was the very first moment she felt genuine joy. Her knife like mandibles, that stretched slightly beyond her maw, fluttered, and even parted to reveal a somewhat timid, experimental smile.

“You helped to shape me into a strong soldier,” And after a brief pause he added, “For the hierarchy.” / “I’m surprised that we’ve managed to find each other again after so long. In… here of all places. I hope everything is well with you, considering where you’re at. I’m curious, how have the spirits guided you through the years?”

Arkadan's flanging voice had an undertone of verity to it. Not that Oisir doubted the male. Her people, at least in her own, personal experience, seldom made good liars. No; what bothered her was that lingering air of sorrow about him that seemed to wax and wane, almost in rapid succession. As a predatory creature that was naturally adept at observing even the tiniest details around her, she could easily tell that he had difficulties with just the simple act of voicing his thoughts. Even his motions imitated hers; for the plain reason that he simply had no idea what else to do. Or so she surmised. His breathing, too, seemed labored. It was almost as if he consequently forgot to inhale, then did so, and repeated the process of omission and recollection with exhalation too.

Tilting her head to a very slight angle to sufficiently emphasize their height difference, Oisir's expression remained maternally warm, yet stern. Though it did bewray an iota of that faint authority she had wielded so many years ago in his presence. "Son..." She started, with a tranquil, clearly audible tone. "Remember to breathe. I assure you that loosing your consciousness in this place will do you no good. Please, I kindly urge you to trust me on this matter..." That little display of still remaining dormant power had somehow sapped her remaining energy. No matter how hard she fought against it, the strain was somehow way too much. Her posture faltered, her shoulders slumped.

Oisir's impossibly delicate frame sank unceremoniously into the couch. In a vain attempt to disguise it as relaxation, she tried to distort the protesting yelp that escaped from the back of her throat to sound like a suspiration. Pinching her eye lids shut, she let her arms slither heavily closer to her body, too. The left one felt utterly numb as it came to rest close to her prominent, sharp hip bone. Focusing on the very recent memory of the little compliment, she mustered her strength, and concentrated on the sound of her own voice. "I humbly thank you for your candor." Though surely, her advice must have given him faltering directions if he had ended up here. His failure meant that, in essence, as his superior, she was to blame. At least partially.

"A better soldier, for the Hierarchy... yes. Our people. For our honor. And for the the Spirits of our antecedents. Do you truly believe that, Arkadan Ketan? Did I direct you to the most righteous of paths?" She shook her head, trying to expunge the dizziness that threatened her mind. "I... myself. I ended up here. All the same, I am glad that my regrettable presence here granted me the chance to see you again. The Spirits have been, hm, please excuse the expression, capricious. To say in the least. " Her words were beginning to sound sluggish. Or at least, this is how Oisir felt. The world was slowing down; all things around her moved as if they were mired in mud. Managing to just barely force her eyes open she flashed the male a profoundly apologetic look. "I wonder, could you possibly find it in your heart to keep me company as they escort me to the emergency facility...?"

Hypoemia was a familiar, blighting guest in her life: The device that monitored her vital functions emitted a high pitched signal, and already then, she was aware of the medical staff swiftly closing in on her position. The sound of their boots against the marble floor reverberated with uncomfortable intensity in the lounge. She felt her own personal guard swoop down gracefully as he grabbed her body with an uncomfortably harsh underarm hold and forced her up. She found herself suffering more from the violation of her personal space rather than the actual infirmity. The sensation of unfamiliar bodies making contact with hers... It was unberable. "I'm dying." There was no self pity in the simple, earnest statement. If anything, it felt almost relieving to admit this simple fact. Even if she couldn't be certain about her indistinct susurration reaching Arkadan's person.

[Dymhsa]

Morning air freshly warmed by the sun’s rays rushed in through his iron grey nostrils, some even managing to blow through his rigid maw plates and past his fangs. The heated breaths livened his body in much the same way as Oisir had livened his very spirit. Staring at his old commanding officer made his muscles produce tiny movements, twitches and tightening of various muscles brought on by sheer sorrow. Commanding, elegant aquamarine eyes seemed to inspect him – perhaps even just him. Behind the thin, blank, wavering curtain of the fake expression that he directed towards her lay his true emotions. Drifting somewhere in a sea of sadness between a childlike need of understanding and a crushing sorrowful regret, his mental state skittered about.

The female tilted her head while continuing to direct her eyes to his pitiful, hollow bulk. Her eyes drifted across his entire frame, yet mainly left them to gaze into his own. The turquoise orbs seemed to pierce through his sapphire eyes; the same brilliance that she had now fostered in his heart now made it all the more difficult to shroud what he desperately wanted to forget.

Throughout it all he could only keep his forlorn gaze straight, narrow, unbending. To consciously do anything else would simply be too exhausting, his charade would wither away and he would not be able to hold back the inevitable flood of tears that would come. Luckily, Oisir was positioned right in front of that desperate stare and as the final echoes of Arks words evanesced in Palaven’s morning rays she shifted upwards. The tall female appeared even taller, larger, and more authoritative. The cracks on her dark plates, some even running through the distinctive purple of her markings, seemed far more pronounced on her tired mien. She was akin to a lone, ancient pillar; a cracked and crumbling relic, symbol of stability and order, that had stood the test of time…

"Son. Remember to breathe. I assure you that loosing your consciousness in this place will do you no good. Please, I kindly urge you to trust me on this matter..."

Blue eyes widened slightly as Arkadan kept his gaze on Oisir’s lithe, imposing figure. Her pose and demeanor seemed to command a certain aspect of authority, and one not entirely composed of the stern militaristic one he was used to. Perhaps had this been a happier time in his life, he would have taken the advice to heart with an amused smile. However, despite how delighted he was to see Oisir again, the memories that stuck to his mind like so many burrs ensured that it was not a happy time. Regardless, the turian tried his best to take one deep, long, breath as the talons in his lap melted and spread out flat on his thighs. This of course, caused wrinkles in his eerily pristine pants.

Any amusement he may have gotten out of his successful, albeit shaky breath was snuffed out as Oisir’s figure, which he had so recently likened to a column, toppled slowly backwards and onto the couch. The little sigh the slithered from her maw seemed a mix of exhaustion and relaxation, though the female honestly just seemed utterly tired. It was as if she, too, wanted to simply lean back and disappear into nonexistence with little more than a final, allayed exhalation. Once more his mind feel to his own memories and feelings that he still tried to keep hidden…

"I humbly thank you for your candor. /// . The Spirits have been, hm, please excuse the expression, capricious. To say in the least."

His vision directed itself at the sharp chest plate sticking above her body, the current angle blocking any and all view of her visage. Arkadan stared longingly, his vision skipping over the top of the female’s body and drinking in her contrasting figure as it sunk into the couch. Like this, he could focus on her words and on the memories they kindled in the chambers of his psyche. She almost disappeared, along with the entire spirit forsaken facility, and for a brief moment he was back in the medical bay, walking in to have a private chat with a commanding officer that had taken a bullet for him. Though, the tone of her words soon seemed as exhausted as her twig-like body, shooing the figment away just as it was brought on.

Keeping her words fresh in thought, Arkadan stared sadly towards the Oisir’s eyes as the female peered out from her relaxed position. Once again he was relegated to shallow breaths and a heavy body. She seemed sorry for something, yet he couldn’t understand why. He felt bad, terribly so.

"I wonder, could you possibly find it in your heart to keep me company as they escort me to the emergency facility...?"

The room seemed to stop and stand still for a brief second, allowing all the actors and events to sync up exactly right. The hastened stomping of boots filled the air at the same moment the squealing electronic alarm crossed his otic opening. Azure eyes widened with sorrow, worry, but most of all confusion and desperation as his grey brow plates slid up his face. The paralyzing reality of the situation prevented him from drawing a single breath as a few guards moved in to sweep Oisir away; for the moment all he could do was watch breathlessly as just a few droplets of liquid formed behind his eyes, threatening to show themselves at the first sign of troubling news. His face did manage to follow her head as she was lifted up, imparting two final words to him.

"I'm dying."

Control slowly crept back through his nervous system as he witnessed her being carted off by the few guards and rehabilitation workers that just happened to be close by. Her words felt so peaceful that it disturbed him. They were filled with the same longing for relief and relaxation that he had often thought death would bring him, and with that he felt an odd attachment to the female. An odd attachment in that they both seemed to wish for that final blissful slumber. As counter-intuitive as it may have been to an outsider, he was suddenly filled with the desperate hope that she would not die…

Life took time in returning to his muscles, the weight of depression and the hollowness he felt while sitting in that chair still plagued him. Shifting his weight and setting his talons to the arms of the chair once more, Arkadan allowed himself to rise. The turian’s bent knees and somewhat slouched back straightened as his arms caught up to rest at his sides; his strong muscles had managed to lift him up so quickly despite the weighted feeling that it had caught him off guard. After a moment to recover, he looked over at his guard who simply nodded once before jerking his head in the direction of the exit. Arkadan must have figured the guard to be just as speechless as he was. Arkadan moved to meet the guard after a brief recovery from the shock of his own strength, and the two began to move at a hastened clip after the group.

Sadness and worry flooded his expression as Arkadan marched after Oisir as fast as he could. His mandibles hugged tightly to the side of his face and his brow plates had moved about as far up as they could naturally reach. Though his mind was still blank, thoughtless, and trying desperately to stay in its drifting state as he continued to place one leg in front of the other, closing the distance to his old commander. His eyes still focused on her tired looking face, he wondered if she was still even conscious.

The uniform lights overhead seemed to blur together as he passed under them one by one, the glow of one entwining with the glow of the next until eventually they had winded through the corridors of this particular wing of the rehab center to its emergency sick bay. Oisir’s entourage had taken her to a small private examination room, where she could rest and wait for the nurse, and Arkadan was soon to follow, shuffling in with his guard in tow.

Walking inside with an unsure mien to match an equally unsure demeanor, Arkadan snuck just inside the door. His bland patient’s shirt clung to his muscular soldier’s physique as he edged towards the side of a nearby chair, next to the head of Oisir’s bed. He did not sit down though, opting instead to remain standing until Oisir gave him permission to. The sadness followed him here too, and as the excitement settled he once again had to fight to hide any inkling of emotion from showing through a blank visage. “You asked earlier if you had truly directed me on the most righteous path?” he stated the question earnestly, his stomach feeling as though it was about to tie itself in a knot. Trembling, he became too overwhelmed with grief to hide it much longer and now it was plainly evident just how much talking about his own history would shake him, “What I’ve done… to end up here has not had anything to do with what you’ve taught me.”

(OOC: Ending will most likely be edited, as I am not happy with it)

[TincyWorm]

The entire universe, and absolutely everything encompassed within it, had become a mere confusing, rapidly cycling blur. Colors, both vivid and livid, became alive, fluttered painfully at the threshold of the visible spectrum; then ceased to exist and gave way to black, white, and shades of gray. Wavering silhouettes seemed to hover and bustle about vexatiously while they filled the atmosphere with their reverberating chitters, ululations, and demanding howls. These silhouettes, these cryptic invasive shadows were offensively obstreperous, even their movements were... wrong. Erratic and uncontrolled somehow. They even drove any gentle guiding illumination, both natural and unnatural, away from them. Or did they attract it instead? Antumbra, penumbra, umbra. All of this, or these, were transpiring simultaneously.

Nothing made much sense to Oisir. Her raptorial eyes gazed at the world through the comfort of half closed eyelids. And regardless of this deplorable episode brought on by her cachexy, they had managed to maintain their trademark, intense shade of aquamarine. A familiar, if an unwelcome scent played about her nostrils. The male, Inodiar. The guard who so insistently hounded every single movement she ever made in this... Spirit forsaken mock sanctuary. Spirit forsaken. Even in this state, when her consciousness flickered on the borders of darkness, the infirm female realized the severity of the curse. Her ancient Historian father would have beaten the living daylights right out of her, just for thinking it.

The melancholy realization somehow helped her mind to anchor itself onto reality. As did the discomforting sensation of the male's armored, toned arms against her frail body... She was being carried. To a tiny emergency room of sorts for treatment; trailed by whom she assumed were a nurse, a second guard and Arkadan. Oisir had no direct eye contact with the shattered soldier, but she could sense him. Marching rhythmically behind the nurse with precisely trained, exact steps. The click clacking of his cloven shoes (and she even realized instinctively that they really were his) had an inexplicably loyal echo to them.

Slowly forcing her eyes to fully open, she tried to desperately catch a glimpse of him. The lightness of the entire facility, or rather the lounge that had enveloped her shifted and wavered. It became comfortably dim; and a heartbeat later, excruciatingly vivid. Thusly, rendering the attempt impossible. The clinically clean and polished little space did little to help. She merely settled for a defeated suspiration as she felt how her body was set down onto a rather spartan sick bed. It didn't particularly yield to the shape of her slender form, but the tips of her elongated fringe prongs, as well as her back, sunk into it.

Groaning, she flared her sharp mandibles and exposed rows of fake fangs in the disguise of a fatigued grimace. Exerting all the strength that still loitered somewhere within the brittle shell of her body, she managed to turn her head towards the doorway. He stood there, with a flawless militaristic posture, his inpatient garments taut against his muscular body. Loyally, like a turian true to his commanding officer. Or... desperately, like a xemna that had straggled from it's herd. Squinting, Oisir tried to focus her hazy, faltering sniper's eyes on him.

Paying no heed to the nurse bustling about and prodding her carotid for a pulse, she lifted one of her talons up in an effort to gesture to him. But her limb, that had long ago handled weapons with flawless perfection, refused to cooperate. It collapsed onto her vacant feeling abdomen unceremoniously. Feeling utterly humbled and accepting the situation, she simply let it remain there. Spirits only knew how brittle her plates felt underneath that thin layer of cloth, custom tailored to fit her twig like shape. Yet she felt no shame even in this reclining state. Rather, she found herself wondering how much longer she could and would function... And how thin, how utterly emaciated she must have appeared in those deep sapphire eyes that stared at her intently and with utter grief. He had suffered much, and was still suffering, immensely from what ever mental abominations he carried behind that begging mien. Begging...

“You asked earlier if you had truly directed me on the most righteous path?”

The male's tone oozed with an aching that was uniquely somber. It confused Oisir's hazy state of mind. Should she conduct herself with the demeanour of a failed matron figure, long lost commander or that of a criminal monarch? Allowing her eyelids to droop just a little, she let her own plated visage, tattooed umber and lilac, adopt a warm, if still stern, mien. "Yes. I did indeed. I question my own abilities and my skills as a leader. Every day, almost every moment. I am expected to stand tall against a thunderstorm, ridicule the hazards, and if the situation so dictates, to willingly sacrifice my life and well being while I lead those under me with a steadfast talon. I confess, by the most revered Spirits, that I feel I have failed profusely in this. And for this, Arkadan Ketan, I beg for your forgiveness."

“What I’ve done… to end up here has not had anything to do with what you’ve taught me.”

His entire person had began to quiver visibly. It was almost as if he was about to burst into a gory, chaotic mess simply from the deep set need to reveal the reason why he had been placed here in the Center. He had even begged for her to inquire about it, and not even in a subtle way at that. It shocked Oisir to the core; regardless of how she had sensed the destroyed air about the soldier upon recognition. Blinking slowly, she forced a fully amicable expression onto her cracked, plated features. "Arkadan. At ease, son." Her tone was tranquil, almost soothing. Disregarding how physically taxing it was to force out audible words, she inhaled, exhaled, and concentrated on the complex blue markings that adorned his visage. A lilac tongue slithered out from her agape maw and moistened her lips before disappearing again.

"Tell me then. What courses of action condemned you to this abyss? Why are you here? No judgement shall be passed onto you from my part. I remember a young male, expert at explosives, with a pure heart. A strong sense of duty. And now? What I see in front of me now is not the same turian. You tremble, you suffer terribly. What happened?" Blunt. Yet still somewhat polite. On some level, she comprehended him fully. To how many individuals on this vast Galaxy had she told her own, full complete story to? On the rare occasion, the need to do so was almost painful. But she persevered; and kept it all inside like a good, well taught female should. Akadan, however. For now, he would be her entire world as would his tale. Her motherly instincts dictated that there was hope for him still. Oisir had to, wanted to save him.

[Dymhsa]

An endless dusty whirlwind, never settling, always thrashing at the hidden side of a decaying shell that he had built to hide from the world, that was Arkadan’s mind. He hated it. He absolutely hated trying desperately to wall it up. But he had to; as the alternative was simply too painful, letting the whirlwind free would be the genesis of an indescribable wave of anguish and sorrow. The turian stood on the border where the room’s light seemed to diffuse into shadow. A quivering talon very slowly lifted up behind the chair he stood next to, rising above its plush back before moving forward and lowering down. As sensitive undersides of digits made contact with frizzy cloth they tensed, harboring and showing the same amount of uncertainty as the rest of his languishing stature.

Beryl blue eyes turned to place him once more in the center of their gaze, shining from behind cracked and aging plates. There was a nurse, standing on the other side of the sick bed over Oisir’s abdomen, but she may as well have not have been. The two, Arkadan and Oisir, floated in their own existence; a nebulous gel cut off from the rest of the universe in which they shared mutual emotion and thought. For some reason he felt safe in the female’s presence, though it did not make any of this easier. Her final words before being carted off to this room were that she was dying, and by the spirits she looked it. Arkadan could not understand, having no idea of her maladies he could only assume it was the truth. Whatever energy remained underneath that shell of plates and proper mannerism was clearly devoted to him, struggling only to fail at lifting a talon. It reinforced a small sense of duty in his trembling, unsure husk.

"Yes. I did indeed. I question my own abilities and my skills as a leader. … And for this, Arkadan Ketan, I beg for your forgiveness."

Arkadan could not believe the sounds that accosted his otic opening; the very thought that this female, who had taken a bullet for him at one time, should ever need his forgiveness. The notion made an already dry maw feel multitudes more arid and fatigued. For no other reason than that he simply chose to brush the thought from his mind by interrupting his intense, begging sapphire stare with a single confused blink. Any reprieve would be empty and hollow, meaningless and unneeded – if he turned out to be mistaken in his judgment, he would spare no time in delivering it to the tired female. If anything, she should have been proud, but Ark couldn’t exactly pinpoint why he thought this way, his diligent blue eyes sticking to Oisir’s soothing visage.

"Tell me then. What courses of action condemned you to this abyss? Why are you here? No judgement shall be passed onto you from my part. I remember a young male, expert at explosives, with a pure heart. A strong sense of duty. And now? What I see in front of me now is not the same turian. You tremble, you suffer terribly. What happened?"

As the last echo of her words scattered away, a profound silence rushed in like raging rapids shifting across a newly vacant valley. The male stood, almost able to feel the silence rise, and raising a tense air of anticipation for his answer with it. An angular jaw dropped just a millimeter, maybe two, before giving an unnoticeable shudder. His eyes twitched thrice, looking deeply into Oisir’s keen eyes as his mind tried desperately to find something – anything that could be any semblance of an answer. Drawing a breath, Arkadan shivered and his talon clung tightly to the chair next to him. He had been, whether or not he knew it, begging for this moment. Now that it had finally arrived, he felt too vulnerable and shaken to act.

Shifting his eyes very slightly to his side and to the chair, but not away from Oisir’s visage he decided he would try and sit down. Enervated eyelids drooped and covered his tired eyes as he held a long blink, and drew another large breath. As the protective hide lifted, and the rooms light could once more be caught by his glistening orbs, Arkadan tried desperately to summon the energy to take the few steps he so desperately needed. Despite the feeling that his legs would buckle and his body would collapse to the floor, he did manage to weakly pick up one of his legs and slowly allow it to drift forward. Lowering his cleft foot to the floor, he did the same motion with his other leg and soon his body picked up the rhythm, allowing him to traverse in front of the navy blue furniture. His grey plated talon finally picked itself off to shift over the armrest as he turned, lowered his body, and allowed his waist to sink into the plush cushion…

Arkadan leaned forward and brought his talons to meet and entwine in front of him, his arms drifted across his plated legs before settling just below his knee and settled on top of his thighs. He held his head up, at least as best he could; his eyes, which had only shifted their gaze away from her to get a cursory glance of the chair, were now close enough that he swore he could see a shadow of himself in her turquoise orbs. Silent, but labored gasps of breath slithered in and out of his maw as he tried desperately to search for the words. “I’ll try to tell what I can,” he finally uttered weakly, his flanged voice turning almost to a whisper out of combined physical and emotional weakness.

Steel mandible slid gently down the side of his face as a dry blue tongue clambered up to wet his plated lips. “I was c… ,” he choked. He was near tears, but this was not the reason why. There was simply so much to tell, to explain. The very ideas and concepts seemed to clog his throat, and the clog refused to break. His maw clamped shut and he took another slow, shivering breath of air through his turian nostrils. He felt compelled to explain this to her, at least some of it. He needed to now; he could not fail in this task.

“I was captured by Cerberus,” forlorn eyes stared widely at the words left his throat. From that one sentence his shivering maw already felt wracked with exertion. His chest heaved slightly now as he stared straight at his own reflection in the female’s eyes. “I’m… not sure if you know what the organization is… but know that they’re a terrible pox to the Hierarchy.” Weak words drifted quietly through the air. Smooth with meekness, yet rough with uncertainty. He paused for a moment, needing the small break to recuperate his mental fortitude and figure out where exactly he would begin.

Blinking once, the turian coated his cobalt eyes with a glossy layer of tear liquid. Despite actually managing to utter those few words, the clog in his throat still felt just as big, and perhaps had even grown with the subtle introduction to his haunting torments. “If I remember… ,” he tried to speak up, to make his words clearer, but they were barely more than a ghostly whisper, “They caught me off guard on a peaceful evening. I think I was out with my mate… “

Facial plates twitched upon recognition of that night. His forlorn gaze did not budge as he recalled the emotion he felt watching a bullet end her essence as quickly as the demons had dumped her body. “I’m sorry,” he stated bluntly and closed his eyes, distant painful reminiscent thoughts battered his psyche. The sterile, clinical air about the room comforted him somewhat, but not nearly as much as Oisir’s presence, as weak as it was. “Spirits this is hard to tell,” he added, a single tear welled from the fluid in his eye, dropping down his hide and face plate, “But I’ll tell what I can. More than I have…”

With a ragged breath Arkadan’s excruciatingly sad gaze implored something -- anything from the sickly female, be it sign or words and his weightless talons shifted slightly over one another in despair.


((OOC: Poor guy will start to outright cry soon ))