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electrospherevaults · 4 months

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Spare a Little Innocence

Excerpt from Maiden, sequel to Defiler.

[The Maidens of Wrethella have been fighting in another bloodied conflict in another corner of the galaxy. After the end of a prolonged siege that saw them lose a close comrade, the squad of Lady Analussa takes the time to lick their wounds. The two armies that fought against one another are doing the same.]

“That guy doesn’t look too good,” Analussa commented.

“HEY YOU!” Zenella shouted at the soldier, but he did not respond. He just remained sat by a steel crate that had remained intact, rubble at his feet, helmet on his laps, rifle laying against him and eyes that stared mindlessly down its barrel.

They long had forgotten how to blink.

“Shellshock,” Belissi commented. “Analussa, should we go-”

Tosanovva brushed against Belissi, prompting her to stop talking. She continued walking past her, her scoped rifle left behind, passed along to Jenivirre alongside her lit cig. Belissi, much like the rest of them, quieted down and observed.

Tosanovva sat by the soldier. She unwrapped a candy bar she had on her – a bit of chocolate and fruits and berries, all mushed together to such an extent you only got hints of flavour from a bit of everything with each bite. The exception was the oats. And there were a lot of oats. Nobody liked the oats, so she had found herself a small pocket of heaven she knew she could tap into that nobody else would bat an eye for. She extended this heaven of hers to him, taking his hand and opening it. He put the bar down on his palm.

“Eat.”

The soldier, a slight panic in his eyes, complied. He unwrapped the candy and brought his food to his face. He took the first bite.

“You need the respite, soldier.”

The soldier nodded again and again in a hurry, almost mechanically, by sheer brute force of discipline instilled into him. There was no room for doubt and hesitation in war after all – any seconds wasted and a bullet will remind you why. Tosanovva stayed by his side with each tiny bite, the mist from the rubble clearing with each gentle gust of wind that swept. The gunfire had long died down. Only the eerie peace of the aftermath remained by their sides.

“Dankebo,” the soldier mustered eventually once he was halfway through.

Tosanovva turned to look at him. “You’re from the north, aren’t you?”

The soldier nodded. “I am a Rotringer, ja.”

“Shouldn’t you be with the republicans instead of the centrals?

The soldier grasped onto his bar tighter. He almost smashed it. He took the bite, chomping down a larger chunk this time. His long stare returned, losing itself amidst a thousand yards up north from here. “My brother is.” He tried to bring his feet back to the ground, taking another tiny bite, letting the merciful mix of chocolate, berries and oats wash over him. “I hope I didn’t kill him today.”

He let the words hang out in the air, an air poisoned with smog and fire and rotting carcasses. Even if he did, there was no way one could tell. It was not the stench that got you, it was the way your nostrils accommodated the slaughter, and the realization of its normalization that did. On your first day of combat, the adrenaline does not let you recognize the mauled and the broken that fell besides you. On the second day, their bodies flood you with their miasma. On the third month, their memories do not register anymore.

“And if I did,” he finally said again, the bar depleted in his hands, “I hope it was a clean kill. I hope I did not make him suffer.”

“War rarely is a clean affair.” The soldier turned to look at the Maiden besides him. Her face did not look much younger than his – and she already bore more scars and stitches. Tosanovva pulled out two more of her candy bars from her pouch. She offered another to the soldier. He hesitated at first, but he ultimately grabbed it.

“If you do not mind, Maiden,” he asked a bit later, “what happened to your face?”

“Oh, this?” Tosanovva chuckled as she pointed to the stitch on her left cheek. “That’s my girlfriend’s handiwork. Cutest solarian nurse in the galaxy!”

The soldier smiled. “She must be very lucky indeed!”

“Oh you would be mistaken – I am the one in luck. Without her, this whole jaw would be gone.”

“Oh,” the soldier responded. He unwrapped the second bar quietly. He cut it in half, and shared it with her. She held it in her hands, and put on a bitter smile.

“War is rarely clean. Yet, we forge on, counting our blessings.” Tosanovva got up again. “Find some rest, find some friends. Your brother is in Wrethella’s hands now, soldier. So are you.”

The soldier nodded. He smiled again. Tosanovva returned the smile and turned to walk away.

“Thank you for the candy, Maiden!”

Tosanovva turned her head slightly, still smiling, and gave a welcoming nod. She then walked back over to her squad.

Whatever remained of it.

“Is your new boyfriend going to be alright?” Belissi asked, a playful smirk on her face. Tosanovva did not return the gesture.

“I killed his brother,” she answered coldly.

The squad stood still.

Smiles and teases and laughter died down. Belissi stepped back. “How can you be sure?” Yevletti asked instead.

“I saw him in my scopes. Same birthmark under the right eye. Squished lips. Long neck.” She extended her hand, and Jenivirre passed her the lit cig she was already smoking. She tried to bring it close to her lips, but she let it hang by her throat. Any closer, and her carotid would have gotten burnt. “That’s where I got him.”

Tosanovva put the cig on and puffed, letting a long billow of smoke come out of her lungs. She opened her eyes and tried to look for the sun. Only traces pierced through.

“Ouch.” Jenivirre commented as Tosanovva handed the cig back to her, exchanging it for the rifle she entrusted her with. “Nasty way to go.”

“Did you tell him?” Analussa queried, checking her equipment one final time. Tosanovva shook her head. “Good.”

“Why is this good? He is instilled with false hope now,” Zenella shot back.

“We were innocents once too, Lady Zenella,” Tosanovva responded, putting the rifle on her back. “It is good to spare ourselves a little innocence wherever we can.”

Zenella opened her mouth, and then closed it back. She traced her fingers against the metal mask that covered half her face. “You are right,” she said.

#my writing #original fiction #writing #writers on tumblr #defiler #maiden #hey folks expect defiler to be finished this year on tumblr as well btw!

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444names · 7 days

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Names derived from dark seducer and golden saints names from The Elder Scrolls

Alina Alinaf Aline Alineh Alinelandra Aling...

Beguilesela Beguiless Beguilessmi Beguilia Beguilina Beguiline Beguilo Beguilora Beguilqoth Beguilqothe Beguilqotko Beguilvath Beguilvathe Chunaf Desel Desela Deselansa Desella Deselrel Desetahal Desetai Desetaif Desetaim Deshala Deshalan Deshaling Deshayaifa Deshayaim Deshayyaima Deshayzara Dessia Dessmi Dylan Dylanef Dylaneh Dylanelaz Dylansa Dylaz Dylazara Dyloraz Dylori Dylorilvath Dylorina Erudeh Erudeo Erudol Eruxika Eruxikane Eruxikanel Eruxikif Eruxilessia Eruxilina Eruxora Eruxoraz Eruxorina Eruxorinef Fataada Fataadam Fataha Fatahal Fatahalan Fatahayzara Fatai Fataif Fataim Fathe Issia Ixjoka Ixjokal Ixjokala Ixjokan Ixjokandraz Ixjokanef Ixjokansa Ixjokazaka Ixjokha Ixjokhal Ixjokhala Ixjokhaling Ixjokhayai Ixjokhayaif Ixjokhayaim Ixjokhayyai Jandra Janef Janeh Janel Jysel Jysela Jyselan Jyselaz Jyselreh Jyselrene Jyselrenel Jysetaada Jysetaadam Jysetaha Jysetaifa Jysetaima Kandra Kandraz Kandrazara Kanef Kanela Kansa Luxika Luxikal Luxikaling Luxikan Luxikansa Luxikaz Luxikifa Luxilesha Luxilia Luxilineh Luxilo Luxilqoth Luxilvathe Luxora Luxoraz Luxori Luxorinef Luxoring Mirela Mirelandra Mirelanela Mirella Mirellaz Mirelreh Mirelrela Mirelren Mirelrene Miren Mirenef Mireneh Mirenel Mirenela Mireniss Mirenissia Mirenissmi Mixtoka Mixtokal Mixtokala Mixtokalia Mixtokan Mixtokane Mixtokansa Mixtokaz Mixtokazara Mixtokha Mixtokhala Mixtokhalaz Nelandra Nelane Nelaz Nelazara Nella Nellandra Nellanela Nellaz Nelreh Nelrel Nelrela Nelrelan Nelrelandra Nelrellan Nelren Nelrenef Nerazara Nerru Nerrudeh Nerrudeo Nerrudol Nerrudolso Nerruxikif Nerruxori Nifxika Nifxikifa Nikal Nikaling Nikanef Nikanelan Nikansa Nikaz Nikazaka Nikazara Nikif Nikifa Nikifxika Nikifxiling Nileshal Niless Nilezol Nilezolso Nilia Nilinef Niling Nilora Nilorina Nilqothe Nilqotko Nilvataha Nilvatahal Nilvatahala Nilvatai Nilvath Nilvathe Nuzaka Nuzakal Nuzakan Nuzakanef Nuzakanel Nuzakaz Nuzakazakal Nuzakazara Nuzaraz Nuzarazakal Nuzarazara Nzera Nzeraz Nzerazaka Nzerrudeh Nzerrudeo Nzerrudolso Nzerruxikan Nzerruxikaz Nzerruxori Oleselaz Olesetaada Olesetaadam Olesetaha Olesetahal Olesetaim Olesha Oleshal Oleshalanel Oleshayaim Oless Olessia Olezol Olezolso Orudeh Orudeo Orudol Orudolso Oruxika Oruxikaz Oruxikifa Oruxilezol Oruxilia Oruxilori Oruxora Oruxori Oruxorinaf Rayai Rayaif Rayaifxikan Rayaim Rayaima Rayyai Rayyaifa Rayyaim Rayzaka Rayzakal Rayzakan Rayzakaneh Rayzakaz Rayzaraz Shala Shalandra Shalansa Shalaz Shalia Shalineh Shaling Shayai Shayaim Shayyai Shayzara Shima Shireh Shirelrela Shiren Shirenela Shireniss Shirenissmi Si'esela Si'eselan Si'eselreh Si'esetaha Si'esetahal Si'esetai Si'esetaifa Si'esha Si'eshal Si'eshala Si'eshalia Si'eshaling Si'eshayyai Si'essia Si'essmi Silesha Sileshalia Sileshayyai Silezolso Silia Silina Siling Silora Silorilqoth Silqoth Silqotko Silqotkohal Silvataada Silvataadam Silvataima Silvath Silvathe Skoha Skohal Skohala Skohalia Skohayaim Skohayyai Skohayyaim Staadam Staha Stahal Stahala Stahayaifa Stahayyai Stahayyaif Stahayyaima Stahayzakaz Stahayzara Staifa Staifxikala Staim Stelan Stelandra Stelandraz Stelanel Stelansa Stelaz Stella Stellansa Stellaz Stellazakaz Stelreh Stelrela Stelrella Stelren Trilezol Trilezolso Trilo Trilora Trilori Trilqoth Trilqotko Trilvatahal Trilvathe Trina Trinaf Trine Trinef Trineh Trinela Tring Ulfrilezol Ulfrilinela Ulfriling Ulfriloring Ulfrilqoth Ulfrilqothe Ulfrilqotko Ulfrilvath Ulfrilvathe Ulfrina Ulfrinaf Ulfrine Ulfrinef Ulfrineh Ulfrinela Ulfring Venef Veneh Venel Venela Venelan Venella Venellaz Venelreh Venelrenef Veniss Venissmi Vevoth Vevothe Vevotko Vevotkoha Vevotkohala Vikal Vikalia Vikan Vikandraz Vikanef Vikaneh Vikansa Vikaz Vikazakan Vikif Vikifa Vikifxika Vikifxikan Whima Whireh Whirel Whirela Whirelanela Whirella Whirelreh Whiren Whirenef Whireneh Whirenissmi Zenef Zeneh Zenel Zenelansa Zenelazakal Zenella Zenellaz Zenelreh Zeniss Zenissia Zenissmi Zudeo Zudol Zudolso

#444 names #444names

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pfashionmart · 2 years

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RAZZO EXPOTRS NAARI KURTI PANT WITH DUPATTA AT WHOLESALE

RAZZO EXPOTRS NAARI BRAND RAZZO EXPOTRS NO. OF PIECES 06 PCS AVERAGE PRICE 615 RS CATLOG PRICE 3690 + 300 SHIPPING + 5 % GST =4189 FABRIC ZENELLA SILK WORK EMBROIDERY DETAILS *FABRICS* Top – Zenella silk Bottom –…

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glitch-h · 4 years

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I seriously should be working on canon and yet

@astrifaera

#abis gf is perfrct for her and i live for zenella and yet my brain wants zenabi #oc stuff

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masterswrd · 4 years

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Hannibal Fashion Meta Pt. 1

I’m just gonna cover Hannibal’s two hetero cosplays from S1 E1 Apéritif and some suit basics that are gonna be a reoccuring.

This outfit is bad. Yes, he’s very pretty still but this is a bad look.

Hannibal knows how to wear a monochromatic outfit, he does it all the time. Right now he looks like a homophobic paper bag or like a republican that’s going to sell me a house in Arizona. He looks like he’s wearing a bad version of what Franklyn is wearing in this episode, which was probably his inspiration for these two outfits.

It’s very pedestrian, very American, and really an outfit that I think anybody who has the money could slap this on and it would be fine. Looking regular is the antithesis to his normal style. He likes attention. If he didn’t, he’d dress like this all the time. I’d avoid eye contact with him too, Will.

Thanks to the prop auction, I foumd out that the whole outfit is off the rack, which is unimaginable for Hannibal.

This is a suede Ralph Lauren sport coat running around $1300 USD. It’s nice. Pick stiching (the straight running stich) up the lapels are a nice detail and are usually done to show the garment was handmade. Standard Two-button. If Hannibal isn’t wearing a double breated jacket, his jacket is going to have two buttons. That’s due to it being a feature of Italian suits which Hannibal loves to wear. This one probably has them because of the rack suits tend to have two since it fits nicer kn a wider range of bodies than three buttons would. You leave the last button undone for movement and you unbutton both when you sit down to not crease the fabric.

The reason this particular jacket looks bad when you rewatch the show is because we’re used to seeing Hannibal in bespoke suits that show off his figure and this is an off the rack jacket. Almost everything he wears is bespoke. He goes to a talior, picks the fabric, tells them what he wants and they make him a brand new suit that nobody else on earth owns.

The 100% cashmere v-neck sweater is also Ralph Lauren running him around $400 USD. Again, it’s nice, but this outfit has purposefully bad color matching to make him look plain jane and nerdy.

The italian wool pants are Zenella running $350. Nice quality. Probably the only pants you’ll see him wearing that has belt loops. I’ll venmo $20 to the first person who can show me a picture wearing a belt. (I promise). All of his pants are bespoke or tailored to fit his waist. Which you need if you wear 3 piece suits and you don’t want to mess up how your waistcoat is laying.

So we’re at $2000 for this one. He probably donated the whole ensamble to a thrift store because he’s canonically eco-friendly and wouldn’t just throw it away but he’s also canonically a bad bitch and wouldn’t be caught dead wearing this again.

This outfit is actually pretty good, for anybody who isn’t Hannibal Lecter fashion icon. Afterall, he had breakfast with his crush and lives to ruin so he let his own fashion slip in a tad.

The jacket is bespoke and a glimps at what Hannibal actually wears in his day to day. We can tell that from the italian cut, the notched lapels that you can find on most of his jackets, and the cuffs.

These are surgeon cuffs, which Hannibal loves. Developed for on the go battlefield surgeons, these buttons woukd be undone, allowing them to roll up their sleeves to avoid getting them covered in blood. Back in 19th century London most people who could afford getting swanked out in bespoke suits were surgeons like Hannibal so they became a status symbol. (The Ralph Laurent jacket above also had surgeon cuffs.)

The buttons themselves and how they lay are also interesting. They look like horn buttons (cow or buffalo horn usually) which are probably authentic because he would never get a bespoke suit and get plastic buttons on them. The overlapping style of how they lay are called “kissing buttons” which is very common for italian suits, done to show that they were hand stictched. Very cute.

I’m assuming that Hannibal had this made at his regular tailor so he already owned it. It takes a while to make a jacket from scratch. It’s a nice jacket and I’m not mad at it.

The merino wool sweater is John Smedley, a british brand for luxury knitwear, and costs $485. It looks almost exactly like his other one but this one is higher quality and fits better. The neckline is deep because it’s supposed to be worn with a tie. Again, probably something he grabbed out of his own closet. Very lovely.

The pants are again, italian wool, Zenella. $350, just like before. Not that interesting if you’re normally in bespoke pants that are part of a matching set.

This outfit was like the last one, deliberately chosen to make him look plain and regular and nobody of consequence.

Hannibal never dresses like this again because this was him playing the part of a unassuming psychiatrist who didn’t want to be noticed. He wanted to sit and observe what the FBI does when they go after a serial killer without people looking at him. Not even Will paid very close attention to him.

Hannibal also just doesn’t do semi-formal. He doesn’t like dressing like this. Why would he dress like this when he can wear whatever he wants and he’s not straight so he’ll probably never walk into another Macy’s again.

[ Part Two ]

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #sorry dr lecter this was more of a drag and a review than a meta #matt writes #long post /#if there are typos lmk im psychotic so i cant spell or read #w.txt #my correct hannibal posts #hannibal fashion

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wafflesrock16 · 4 years

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Ink and Blooms

So, the amazingly talented @autodiscothings updated her fantastic fic Acts Of Repetition recently, and the latest chapter featured an incredibly lovely turian tattoo artist. Smitten, I asked Auto if I could write a lil thing with her boy and she agreed.

So! Here’s my ode to @autodiscothings sweet turian bae, Nous. Naturally I have a human lady falling for him because I am predictable trash.

Zenellia D’kafi, the asari matriarch who ran Thessian Impressions floral boutique was a force of nature when it came to cultivating new clients.

“Everyone is a potential client,” she informed Faustine from behind a large mug of tea. “A random hanar apostle might wish to leave flowers as an offering to the Enkindlers. The elcor business man, away from home too frequently, would like a bouquet to send to his wife as a reminder he’s thinking of her.”

Faustine glanced up from where she was meticulously measuring out gold silk ribbon. “And Adamius Studios?” She glanced out the shop window to the studio across the street. It used to be a mattress store, though little of the building’s past life remained on the exterior.

Zenellia smiled, the light sparkling in her cornflower eyes. “Nous Adamius,” she said, drawing out the surname. “Now there’s an artist who’s in demand. The tattooist of the elite.” She followed Fautine’s gaze. “Hmm. In his case, he’s hosting an art exhibition for select clientele next week. The who’s-who of wealth and influence will be there--they always show up for art exhibits.”

“And our supplying the floral arrangements might garner other high-end customers in addition to Nous,” Faustine surmised.

“Smart girl,” Zenellia said, taking a prim sip of tea. “You know, I have a mind to let you finalize the arrangements with Mr. Adamius.”

“Really?” Faustine clasped her hands to her mouth with excitement. “A solo consult?”

Zenellia chuckled, leaning against the glass counter. “I’ve already discussed the arrangements with him, so this will just be hemming in the finer details. Where he wants the vases placed and so on. You’ve been with me on enough consultations and set-ups, you can do this on your own.”

“Thank you Miss Zenellia!” Faustine reigned herself in. “I can handle this,” she said, straightening her posture. “When do I meet with him?”

“Tomorrow morning, before his studio opens.”

**********

Faustine enjoyed fashion. And art and flowers and color. Her wardrobe was a blend of bright color and textures. Her grandmother used to say that she would have loved Earth back in the 1980’s and based on pictures she’d seen, Faustine was inclined to agree.

But today was professional. Her mentor was trusting her to make a good impression and Faustine needed to represent Thessian Impressions while also simultaneously reassuring Nous--Mr. Adamius--that he’d made a wise choice in ordering floral arrangements for his event and should consider doing so again.

Faustine chose a slate pant-suit with a violet camisole from the back of her closet. It was from an elite fashion line, but had been on clearance since it was from the year before. Still, as she slipped on black high heels, Faustine felt a sense of empowerment.

She hesitated over her hair. Did turians even notice human hair? Should she take the extra effort to curl it? Deciding it couldn’t hurt, Faustine brushed, curled, and styled her auburn locks until they gleamed under the artificial bathroom lights. Some mascara and bright red lipstick completed the look and before she could second guess herself, she was hailing a skycar and then stepping out in front of Adamius Studios.

She normally walked to work, but doing so in heels was out of the question. These were shoes for show, not practicality. Pulling up her omni-tool, she contacted Mr. Adamius to let him know she was from Thessian Impressions and here to speak to him.

The windows to the studio were opaque, but in a slow parade of light starting from the back of the building, the room lit up. The door opened as Faustine leaned closer to peer inside.

“Hello.”

“Hi! Mr. Adamius?”

He nodded, opening the door wider for her to enter. She’d seen him before, of course--he worked across the street. She’d never seen him up close, though. He was a good deal taller than her but held himself tightly like a curled fern frond. The effect gave him a shorter, hunched appearance.

He had pale plates, not quite white, but a light tan. His hide was a deep molten red with eyes that reminded her of orange, autumn leaves.

His most notable feature wasn't his eyes or plates or posture. He had bold, purple colony markings which ran in thick lines toward his eye sockets like a roadmap.The plating on his arms bore similar lines of the same color. Faustine wondered if colony markings extended all over the body. She’d never considered it before, but as she admired the bold, black, geometric patterns that spiraled away from his neck plating in a decorative collar, she decided that this was art, unrelated to the colony markings turians were so famous for.

Mr. Adamius cleared his throat loudly and Faustine realized with racing horror that she’d been staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth like he were an exhibit on show.

“Oh!” It was her turn to clear her throat. “Your tattoos are beautiful,” she murmured, looking at the floor.

“Thank you.” His voice was soft. Not at all loud and bold like his art. “You work for Matriarch Zenellia?”

Faustine released a small sigh that they were moving on. “Yes, I’m her protege, as it were. She wanted me to finalize the details with you for next week.”

She smiled, tilting her head in a friendly manner. Mr. Adamius flicked out a mandible in what she associated as a turian smile, though he avoided looking her in the eyes. She wondered if that was a personality thing or something… maybe he doesn’t like me?

“I was thinking of an arrangement on the reception desk and a few smaller vases along the wall,” Mr. Adamius said, pointing to where several bed posts were mounted and functioning as coat racks. A large, framed canvas sat beneath the racks. On it was what looked like an abstract shoal of fish with luminous, foreign script weaving through it. Faustine didn’t recognize the writing but felt it safe to assume it was turian.“I discussed using a mix of thessian, earth, and palaveni flowers,” Mr. Admius continued. “I want the color scheme to stay cobalt, gold, and white, but I’m open to flower types. Nothing too lavish, the art is the focal point.”

“Zenellia mentioned that,” Faustine said, wiping away any concerns about her likability for the moment. Pulling up her omni-tool, she moved closer to Mr. Adamius to show him the samples of different arrangements in the colors he’d requested. This close, she could smell a slightly acrid scent of what she assumed was ink. But overpowering that was a woody smell that reminded her of pine trees. Mr. Adamius smells like Christmas, she thought.

She glanced up at him from where he was admiring a proposed arrangement. He was wearing loose fitted clothes that placed his heavily inked hide on full display. Zenella had mentioned he was younger, but the asari considered everyone younger since she herself was 876 years old.

Nous seems like he’s my age. Maybe a little older. Early to mid thirties?

“I like this one best,” he said, oblivious to her internal musings. Faustine looked at the arrangement he’d chosen. It was the one she’d put together. Not the four Zenella had proposed, but the one she had done.

“I did that one,” she told him proudly.

“It’s beautiful,” he said in a softer voice, looking not at her eyes, but seemingly her hair. “It’ll work perfectly for what I have planned.”

Instead of replying Faustine responded by grinning at him like an idiot. She was high on accomplishment, she’d convince herself later. But it was thanks to this that Mr. Adamius nervously glanced away, toward a small, unassuming painting partially concealed by the reception desk.

“Is that an anchor?” She pointed at the familiar shape which was the main subject of the painting.

“Yes. I’m fond of the nautical themes found in all cultures. The convergence of design between them, be they human, asari, or turian. We’re all interconnected by the oceans of our worlds.” He let out a quiet hum, unfurling from his tightly held hunch. “It reminds me of my childhood, too, I suppose.”

“You grew up near the ocean?” Faustine asked curiously. “I thought turians weren’t the biggest fans of deep, open water. No offense!” she added, horrified she’d possibly insulted him.

His easy chuckle immediately set her at ease. “Overall, you’re right. Most turians avoid the open ocean. But my homeworld is different.” His mandibles flicked outward as he looked down at his hands. The three fingers of his left hand each bore a small fish tattoo on the knuckle. “Rocam has a huge fishing industry. I grew up around the sea and fishing boats. My childhood involved lots of fishing and playing in the surf. Eating charred salmo around a beach fire with my grandparents. Listening to fisherman swap stories on the wharf.”

Faustine watched the fish tattoos flex with his fingers. Remembering the other canvas leaning against the wall, she looked closer at the framed picture. The fish looked like they were formed from ink splats, honed with a pen to give them more definition and shape.

“You did that?” she asked pointing.

Turning, Mr. Adamius nodded. “I did all the nautical themed paintings in here,” he said. Faustine felt like the quiet, rolling subvocals under the spoken words were proud.

“You’re so talented,” she sighed, feeling mildly envious. “Do you have other paintings like that one?”

“Yes, but they’re in the back. I’ll put them out next week for the exhibit.”

“Oh.”

“I…” a soft whine escaped through his tightly clamped mandibles. “Would you, um. Like to come to the exhibit?”

“Your art exhibit next week? Of course I’d love to go!” Faustine forced herself to school her features into a more poised look. “I mean, if you’re inviting me, I’d absolutely love to see the rest of your work.”

Nous let out a huff of air. “It’s not just my work, all the artists in the studio are going to display something. But if you’d like to come, I’d love to see you. At the event.” He cleared his throat, stepping away from her personal space which at some point he’d entered.

“Thank you,” Faustine whispered, feeling a blush creep over her cheeks. “Um, I’ll let Zenella know which arrangement you selected and where and how many you wanted.” She made to head for the door, but forgetting her high heels, tripped and nearly collapsed face first into the deep blue and white rug.

A strong arm seized her around the waist and held her until she was steady on her feet again. “Damn shoes,” she muttered, more embarrassed then she’d been in years. “Nous, I--”

“Not a problem. Are you all right?”

“Fine, I’m fine. Only thing injured is my pride.” She gave him a sheepish smile, sure her face was beet red.

For the first time since she’d entered his studio, Nous looked her in the eye. “Wounded pride isn’t the worst injury,” he said in that soft, smokey voice.

She stared into the swirling amber of his irises. Turians had smaller eyes than humans, but their gaze was intense. She wondered what he thought about her own hazel eyes.

He bowed his head after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, I’ll see you at the exhibit?”

“Before that, actually,” she replied, blinking away whatever trance she’d fallen under. “I’ll bring the flowers by an hour before your exhibit starts.”

“I look forward to seeing you then.”

So do I, Faustine thought, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she headed out the door. So do I.

#mass effect #turians #turian #human/turian flirting #fan fic of a fan fic #Nous belongs to autodiscothings #he is a sweet and precious boi #Faustine would smooch #read acts of repitition #waffles writes #thank you auto!

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