A grin spread on her lips as she heard the little digipurring sound that Legion used to make sometimes but not often. She continued rubbing for a little bit while she watched the geth seem to access some files. She noticed the body language, as it were. Legion had stood in the same way when he did it. She felt an ache in her stomach at the thought of the geth who had saved her what felt like a lifetime ago.
She frowned a little bit, ears turning a bit red with embarrassment at the next revelation that Tamos gave her. “Oh… Oops,” she said. She chuckled softly. “I know it doesn’t help, but I was really on edge after getting out of that damn server. My implants were aching, too,” she said. She perked an eyebrow.
“Can you extend my apologies to Prime for me?” she asked curiously.
Finally she dropped her hand to the side, not wanting to make things awkward as she pet the geth like one might a cat. Even if she did find the digipurring one of the cutest things in the galaxy to hear.
“Thank you for answering my questions, Tamos. I do really appreciate it. The ‘exchange of data’ is rather pleasing in comparison to other things I could be doing.”
“I will, but it does not mind. Your reaction was perfectly understandable; your excuses, though also understandable, are unnecessary.” It let her hand go and oscillated its flaps, letting the tactile sensors readjust to the open air. It… ‘missed’ her touch, actually, but at least now it could move its flaps freely. Finally, it ‘smiled’.
“Yes; this is… ‘pleasing’. I am… happy to oblige. We should do this more often, in fact, though I understand we are both… rather busy.” It gestured vaguely, movements stilted, then seemed to abandon the attempt and laced its fingers together over its midsection.
It took a moment—a very brief moment, of course—to transfer a record of this conversation to its local network, aboard their ship in dock. Prime immediately returned a wish to assure the commander it forgave her. Tamos nodded. “Apology sent. Prime wishes to assure you it forgives you, and in fact was never… ‘upset’ by your actions.” Tamos’ flaps lifted in another small grin as it ducked its head. “In fact, we… have no record of you ever doing anything to… upset or offend us. You… you have always been so… ‘good’ to us. We… thank you, though that is an inadequate form of expression for our gratitude.” It fumbled over its words, then let them linger a moment before shaking its head.
“I apologize. I did not mean to… to change the topic.” It looked back up at her, hopeful again, as it didn’t want to part ways just yet. “Do… do you have any other questions?”
tamosgi started following you
“Oh goodness… Umm, Sorry, I’ve never met a Geth before…” She bowed her head lightly, not really know what the proper way to greet a Geth would be. “My name is Anya.”
“I apologize if I disturb you,” Tamos said automatically, dipping its head. It crossed its arms to keep from wringing its hands. “It… is agreeable to make your acquaintance, Anya. My name is Tamos.”
A million system checks in under a second welcomed Tamos back from unconsciousness. It was familiar. Too familiar.
Its shutter opened, and a geth optic, glowing a gentle blue, shone through. Its secondary head light lit up a moment later, scanning its environment and providing detailed reports to its subprocesses. It ignored them for the time, instead lifting its hand into its line of sight and studying it. Lithe, black, solid, geth. Its arm was lean, made up of strong but thin synthetic muscle fibers and lined with tubes.
It looked down at its chest to see the hoodie it had been wearing before the transformation stretched over the widest part of its chest, then draping and bunching loosely around its thinner waist. Its pants were tight around its now wider hips and thicker thighs, and the shoe it still had on—having removed the other to see that its human toes had taken on geth anatomy after the fourth kiss—was barely holding together on the instep where its vestigial toe had formed.
Its head flaps flared, taking it all in. Embarrassment and happiness tickled at the back of its mind—emotions it had a much easier time identifying, now—but they were subconscious and easier to keep in check with its logical consciousness. It felt like it could finally control itself again.
Eventually, it looked up at the two Shepards smirking at it, their words of welcome belatedly registering. It quirked a head flap towards them, almost like a smirk of its own—not quite, but at least it was its own expression and not that of a face that didn’t really belong to it.
It set its human experiences to compile into a compressed data packet it could transfer to the Consensus, then assigned another process to contacting Hunter, Prime, Tol and Ralan to tell them the good news. Finally, with its higher processes, it replied aloud to the Shepards, all within the span of a few milliseconds.
It was good to be back.
Tamos and MJ: MURDER MYSTERY
“Just MJ?” Hunter repeated. “Tamos calls you Mary-Jane.”
Tamos clasped its hands in front of itself, suddenly defensive. “It seems more proper.”
Hunter just raised a single flap and looked back to Mary-Jane. “Tamos is a terrible friend; I apologize on its behalf. It is learning. We will abide by your wishes, however, MJ.” Tamos head flaps flared weakly, something of a hurt expression. Hunter replied with an amused one. “I am not serious, Tamos.”
Once inside the ship proper, Hunter abruptly spun to the nearest console—and there were a lot of them, lining the walls and filling the center in an orderly, geometric, but crowded pattern—and tapped a few buttons. Abruptly, the ship began speaking again.
“Thank you, Hunter,” it said, turning its attention—thus all its internal sensors—to the dog. “Canine. Interesting. Prince, please do not attempt to mark territory. I am not equipped to clean urine stains.”
Hunter waved dismissively and lead the small party through the cool, dim ship to the cargo bay. ”For obvious reasons, we do not, exactly, have proper commendations for organic guests aboard this vessel. Prime has used crates and work tables in the cargo bay to improvise. We apologize if it is uncomfortable,” Hunter explained, opening the door as it spoke.
Inside, a prime platform towered, casually carrying a crate large enough to fit the entire party. It glanced over at the open door, dropped the crate with a bang (at which Tol spoke up, requesting that it didn’t scuff its floors) into place as the last makeshift “seat” around the table, then stepped closer to hold out its hand.
“Greetings, MJ. I am Prime.”
((Gaah writing for four means I’m seriously risking the whole multi-conversation thing. I’m trying to minimize that, but still move the action forward. xD Sorry if its a little crazy. >.>
But yes. Sassy gay geth. |D Though… can geth really be gay? they don’t have sexes or genders after all. xD Oh well!))
MJ grinned and chuckled. “Doncha worry- he’s housetrained.” Prince barked in agreement.
Hunter led the way. She followed him, looking around curiously as he talked. The ship was obviously alien- right down to the lack of organic amenities. But then… Tamos compromised to fit her humanity. It was only fair that she do the same, and she did, willingly.
“Aw, don’t worry ‘bout it. Ain’t that bad,” she said, waving away his concerns. “Slept in th’ barn fer three days once waiting fer Strawberry t’ foal. Least here there ain’t no skeeters t’ bite me.”
Then he opened the cargo bay door, and her eyes widened.
That was a big geth.
“Wow, yer a tall feller, aintcha?” she said with a smile and a laugh. She wasn’t afraid, despite his size, even if she could remember the damage a heretic prime could wreak. He was a friend of Tamos, no heretic, and she knew -not in her concious thought, but in her very bones- that Tamos would never hurt her. “Good t’meetcha, Prime.” She tipped her hat to him. “Are yah th’ leader of Tamos’s squad?” she asked, curious.
As if suddenly realizing its size, Prime half-squatted, half-kneeled down to her level. “Leader?” it repeated. “You misunderstand geth social structures. We have no leadership or chain of command; we ‘rule’ by consensus. Prime platforms, such as myself, are mobile server hubs. We maintain unit cohesion.”
“Yes—and this is considerate of you,” Hunter said, nearly interrupting the explanation and gesturing to how Prime minimized its intimidating stature, “but I do not believe she was, in fact, disturbed by your size.” Brazenly, it settled itself on Prime’s knee and looped an arm around its neck. “I assume this was the real reason…?” it teased.
Prime’s thick head flaps fluttered jerkily in amusement, and it looped its arm under Hunter’s legs and stood to its full height. “Of course,” it conceded. They both nodded to their guests and Prime carried Hunter to the table, sitting it on the edge as Prime itself took a seat on one of the crates in front of it. Hunter crossed its legs and leaned back on one hand, looking over its shoulder at the two hovering in the doorway.
“Do not be shy; come in. ‘Make yourselves at home’, I believe is the human saying,” it said, then eyed Tamos’ nervous posture for a moment. “Tamos, I will not steal her, you know that.” It kicked its leg out, gently catching Prime in its armored thigh. “I have Prime. MJ is all yours.”
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, then Tamos visibly relaxed and nodded. “Of course.” It lowered its head in thought, then nodded again. “However, I do not appreciate what you are implying about the nature of our relationship.”
Hunter quirked a flap innocently. “What am I implying?”
Tamos ignored it and politely gestured for Mary-Jane to take a seat first.
“Is the room temperature agreeable, MJ? How is the air quality?” Tol chimed in, and Hunter just rolled its optic at its fretting.
A young Salarian male is relaxing at Apollo’s cafe at a table for one, on the balcony overlooking the presidium. Sky cars are flitting by like so many ants mere meters away overhead, scurrying to their destinations during the citadel equivalent of rush hour. Lammin takes a moment to watch the cars fly by with a quiet appreciation for the engineering involved in some of the newer, faster models, before activating his omni-tool to get to work on the task ahead.
Tamos was absorbed in his omni-tool, only glancing up to narrowly avoid colliding with people, as he made his way to the cafe. Hunger was still new to him, and still thoroughly unpleasant. So, quite anxiously, he ordered a sizable, entirely unhealthy meal and took a seat somewhere uncrowded—there was no one but a single Salarian on this part of the balcony, so he nearly had it to himself. The Salarian seemed busy on his own omni-tool, anyway.
Leaving the chat with Hunter open, Tamos laid his meal out carefully, then closed his eyes and reached out with a part of his mind that was so familiar as a geth, but so awkward as a human. It was the realm of software he was touching. It felt like a buzzing at the back of his head, but not unpleasant. He smiled unconsciously, and—once he felt like he had a solid hold on that sensation—opened his eyes, watching as the words he wanted to type formed in the message box on his omni-tool without him touching the keyboard. It wasn’t networking—not by far—but it was something that made him feel a little more geth, a little more himself.
So pleased with himself, he grinned like a loon and dug into his meal, completely oblivious to the electronic havoc erupting around him.
I don’t believe there is any notable difference between the needs of a human and those of a quarian, aside from dextro vs. levo, of course. Instinct will tell you what you don’t…
You mean y-you are trapped as a-a-a human? Wh-what conditions must be met?
P-perhaps I can le-arn from this, as you say. I’ll remember thi-is, and look forward t-to it when my people re-eturn home.
An unknown number of kisses, each from different individuals. I am sure the gray-face was more precise, but I did not hear them; I was… not present for the ‘incantation’, if you will. I am extrapolating the conditions based on observed data, although there is not much data yet.
But… yes. The humans have a saying: “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” Lemons, being sour, represent an unfavorable situation. Lemonade is a popular, pleasing beverage made from lemons. I believe the analogy is apt.
I wish you the best. *Wrings his hands and looks away nervously.* When this war is over, if—when—we win, the geth will welcome you home. The peace between our people will be the lemonade we make from the lemons of this war. *Gives a small, hopeful smile.*