Garrus heard her voice over the comm. His head lifting up to the sound of her static voice, filtering through the speakers in his private domain–well not exactly private, but the Normandy’s Main Battery.A contrived frown twists flawless features as ivory cheeks pinken ( a careful illusion hastily built )as if any but the AI might have seen her fleeting smile. Pillars of salt won’t fall so easily, even as they crave the release, even as senseless flutters of the heart and chills up her spine shake their foundation. There’s no question as to the culprit, unless she’s unknowingly stirred the affections of Engineer Gabriella – but how could there exist even a shadow of doubt, even were the note forgotten, when his unmistakable presence lingers still as surely as the gentle scent of the roses?
She inspects them carefully, as if searching for cleverly hidden listening devices or other such ulterior motives; perhaps EDI will be taken in by her charade, tricked into thinking her interest is purely professional rather than a vaguely awestruck surprise at the gesture. To engage in frivolous romance is a waste of time, she’s always thought, to perform a ridiculous mating dance that our species has long since evolved past the need for.Indeed. And yet…
Yet the petals, so exquisitely dark, the colour of senseless, unnecessary violence & the adrenaline thereof, the adrenaline she chased; the colour of Miranda’s particular flavour of bloodsoaked love, the only love she has to give, candy-coated & dripping with venom. Yes, a brighter red would have been so heinously tacky as to mandate immediate disposal via airlock, but this…
( are her preferences so predictable? she resolves to throw him off the scent )
A graceful finger idly traces a stem as she relaxes ( legs crossed; ever so poised ) in her chair, determined gaze fixed upon nothing in particular, wondering ( shivering ) with anticipation whether an errant thorn will be so sweet, so bold as to shed her blood.
Her next course of action is perfectly clear. Her voice takes on a honeyed malice as she opens her comms, lacking its normal infusion of vitriol, yet somehow just as sadistic.
❝You do not have authorization to visit my quarters unsupervised, Archangel. Report to my office at your earliest convenience to discuss your… reprimand.❞
He had been viewing the security protocol on his terminal if anything were to happen with the Thanix Cannon, least likely, when she spoke. Which meant that Miranda had noticed the gesture he left inside her cabin. Given, she wouldn’t be quite proud about it but he deep down inside had hoped she was a bit surprised, maybe thankful. Even if she didn’t tell him how she felt just to assume that she felt this way–and if she did, this made him happy. There were times when he was able to put delight into another’s life somehow. One way was to help Shepard capture Saren, give Shepard insight about the rogue Spectre they took down. The second delight was to find that Shepard was alive again. The pleasure was on his end, knowing his best friend in the galaxy was alive again.
Over some time he had developed a fancy to see delight in others however. Miranda seemed troubled, she always seemed so insecure and emotionless. She had her duties and that was abundantly clear, but sometimes the talks he had were her allowed him to see a whole new individual who was exceedingly different than the image Cerberus had given her.
The ex C-Sec officer exhaled through his nostrils, sighing heavily as he left the screen of his terminal filled with many different levels of security information. A dock with the calibration percentage on the right, time, and temperature of the Main Battery. Small icons of ammunition. His hands smoothing over the aging wrinkles under his eyes, touching scar tissue along the right side of his face. Garrus zipped up his hoodie he wore as he left his area of the ship, moving towards the mess hall and taking a right.
Once he made his way towards her doors, engineers glancing at him as they neared the elevator. Garrus pressed a direct line through his omnitool to Miranda.
“I’m here, but I won’t bother entering unless told to. Miss. Lawson has strict orders.”
Obedient and sarcastic. It could be fun, on his end at least.