[Rec Center, Nos Astras] Retro Revival

A low, frustrated grunt came from a few feet away from Ana. Her "non-strategy" was working out far better than it had any right to; Cerastes had no pre-determined moves to throw at her, and was instead forced to more or less act on what he thought her moves might be. This was difficult, since the pair had only officially met two days ago - he didn't have enough experience with her to be able to properly predict where she was going with this.

"That's very sweet of you, Ms. Ana, but you're forgetting that the pawns are now at his back - which means you're going to have to spend a move turning him around if you want to do anything about it. In the meantime, my Knight advances towards you - that's one column to your right, now."

Despite his minor victory, he still had to take a shot. Cerastes leaned forward and clinked the shot on her mask, then tossed it back and swallowed. Ahhh, there was the familiar burn. He had developed a healthy buzz, just the right amount to keep him loose without making him, well, stupid.

"Actually," he said, setting the glass down beside the others (ugh, he was doing so badly), "it is. I believe you might have been mistakenly thinking of 'carousel,' in which case I would have been very concerned, but carousal is, somehow, a word. Congratulations on your eloquence."

A mock-clap, and then he leaned back in his seat and swung his good leg back and forth while he thought.

"Have you ever had strangers come up to you? It occurs to me that you are in a position of celebrity, and that said resulting interactions could be awkward at best."

"I suppose I'll spend my minor action turning him around, then, and as for--" The motion gave off enough tactile feedback that Ana didn't quite yelp when Cerastes tapped her with the shot glass, but the sensation was surprising enough, unable to see it coming as she was, that she recoiled a bit. "Careful. You know I can't really process fast motion with this thing. Anyway, I'll drop the pacifism hex, since the Executioner's dead, and recast the cripple hex on the incoming Knight."

Linguistic skills aside (maybe 'carousal' and 'carousel' had similar etymologies or something), she was not doing as hot - Cerastes had her on the defensive, and her ability to recall everything on the board was growing a bit hazy in light of the Red Devil. Still, the conversation remained perfectly easy to follow, and so she mused on the drell's question for a moment.

"Nah, that's a worthwhile question. First of all, there is the whole quarian thing - we're not that easy to distinguish from each other - but I did occasionally get recognized on the street, back before the war when I still wore all those elaborate envirosuits at times. Not frequently, but it did happen. Secondly, it wasn't quite as embarrassing as you might think; I mean, let's face it, the kind of person who consumes that type of pornography is..." She snorted. "Well, let's just say they tend to have a type, and that means similar buttons to press if I wanted to be left alone. Like, if I were to say that Cerastes," and here her voice abruptly dropped into a throaty growl, "the only way you're getting anything up that mountain is if you get down on your knees and crawl over here like a worm and--"

The next few seconds were unfathomably, mind-shatteringly filthy.

"--then it'd be sort of like that, you know? They leave happy because I talked down to them all sexily, and I leave happy because they're not harassing me."

A pause.

"Your move, by the way."

"Recast? You can cancel it on will? I don't recall reading that... hrn."

The drell was intently focused on the board for the beginning part of Ana's speech, his eyes darting from one piece to the next with ever-increasing suspicion. He was doing a bit better now, to be fair; she'd cast the hex in order to stall him, to give herself some time to think. Heh. Not like that'd save her from his next move when he --

Oh, wow, he was never going to ask her anything like that ever again.

Playing some absurd modification of chess while drinking was difficult enough, even as a drell. Playing an absurd modification of chess while drinking and trying to hide an erection was even worse. Having completely forgotten his next move (a scramble to recall was bringing up nothing - the joys of a perfect memory also included, unfortunately, a perfect recollection of being mentally overthrown), Cerastes cleared his throat - fuck, his ribbing was growing hot, at least she couldn't see - and crossed his legs rather quickly. She did that on purpose. She had to.

"... Right," he said, after another clearing of his throat. "So, I move my..." A pause. Damnit, what had his plan been? He'd had it right on the edge of his mind when he was thinking of it, and now he could only formulate the first part. "... my Knight forward still, and the pawns begin the rear assault --" why did he have to say those two words together "-- which means you better get rid of them in the next turn, or it's your shot, and I get up that mountain without having to do anything remotely similar to crawling."

Once more, his fingers rapped on the table (this time out of nervous habit), his other arm resting across his lap.

Well, that had worked according to plan. Ana skipped her pawns out to meet Cerastes' approach. "If you, uh, need a few minutes, I understand," she demurred. "Particularly since you just charged head-on; I was worried you were going to use the path around for a terrain advantage. Well, that stalemates our pawns for the minor action, and for the major..."

She paused to think, but sighed in frustration after only a few seconds. The liquor was making it harder to concentrate, and she didn't have the benefit of sight to figure out where everything on the board was. Damn, it had just been right there in her mind's eye a second ago...

"Well," the quarian admitted, "I...think I'm finally starting to lose track of the pieces. Have to confess I didn't expect it'd take this long. Uh, I'll go ahead and sacrifice my Scourge to release the Judge of Souls from your Ambassador's crowd control, lemme take the shot there..."

She definitely wobbled after this one. Oh wow. Her sense of equilibrium was swimming; Ana hadn't been drunk since she'd lost her eyes, and hadn't realized that without a visual frame of reference, there wasn't really any way to know what side was up. She gripped the sides of the table, just to be safe.

"But yeah, those days are over. Can't really do much anymore," Ana continued (picking up a thread of conversation from almost two minutes ago. In fairness, she was reasonably intoxicated). "Kinda surprised I made it all the way through today so far without a nap or any of the meds; more strenuous stuff is pretty much out of the question."

"I am quite fine, thank you."

Alright, that shut down at the end was just what he needed. No chance, no need to waste time thinking about it. Cerastes let out a barely-audible breath and grumbled at the current state of affairs: he really needed to pick up his game, or he might actually... shudder... come close to losing. It was an option he just couldn't allow to manifest.

Another hum. He was too concentrated to notice her as she picked up the glass and sucked down its contents. Instead, the hand that had been in his lap reached up to rub at the ribbing of his neck, as though to soothe himself.

Terrain advantage. That was what he was going to do. Fucking hell.

"Is there any way I may aid you?" he asked absent-mindedly as he toyed with a piece. "I am unfamiliar with quarian biology, but if you require some sort of pill or what have you, I could locate a pharmacy and procure the necessary materials for you."

Aha.

The shield, oh, the shield. Cerastes moved the shield in front of her executioner, announcing as he did so, and knocked it over from behind.

"I'm afraid I'm scaling that mountain, Ms. Ana. Pawns in retreat back up the face. Should you need to take a moment or, heh, a shot of water instead, feel free to do so."

Both offers drew a snort of proud derision. "Don't flatter yourself, Cerastes. I'm barely more than halfway. Hell, the night I met my bondmate I was at least 2/3 gone; you're gonna have to do better to net yourself 'good friend' status--"

Oh. There went the Executioner.

"...Well," Ana said, and then fell silent. It was quiet for exactly five seconds, and then she giggled and downed the corresponding shot. "Okay--" Her voice was all hoarse again. She didn't bother clearing it this time. "--okay, I think...I don't actually remember where I'm supposed to...where is the army. Damn. I think I'm going to have to concede."

It was then that she remembered the Judge.

"...Oh, wait, no, actually. Minor action to move the Judge of Souls between your field pawns and your Shield, and then major action to point-blank AOE Final Judgment. BOOM, son. Two shots!" A pause. "...and now I concede, because I've lost track of where everything is. You people and your memory, ancestors."

The quarian lounged back in her stool, propping her boots up on the kitchen island, and idly began pouring a shot into her filtration system for sipping purposes. She felt delirious in the best way possible, a way she hadn't in quite a while. Technically her face was probably in pain, but she couldn't feel it, so as far as Ana'Therion was concerned, it was a net win.

"Yeah, that was...man. That was a fucking fantastic night," she reminisced. "Never expected I'd be so happy to eventually get tied down - figuratively speaking. Hey Cerastes, are you...uh, married, bonded, engaged, exclusive, all of the above?"

"Well, I'll have to just - ah."

Ana was done, son. He watched her pour the last shot into her filtration system, knowing full well that she prooooobably shouldn't take another beyond that. Had the quarian not conceded, he would have pushed for it, regardless; the thought of having to babysit her through her suit the whole night was far from enticing.

... plus, he had those two shots to take on his own. The drell chuffed once more, then, taking on the stance of the Manly Man that he was only half of the time, reached forth and raised two glasses to his companion. Okay, so she couldn't see it, so what. He tilted his head back and took the two shots one after another, then, having effectively sealed his fate for the night (and the morning after, oh boy), slammed the glasses down and leaned an elbow on the table.

"Conceding," he said, voice accented by a developing slur, "is probably an excellent idea, although the night isn't over yet. I'm not sure if I know how to clean up after a quarian who pukes in her own faceplate."

The drell leaned back in his chair and unfolded his legs, a small grunt escaping him as he moved his left leg. Ugh. Stiff, stiff, stiff, and he had another therapy session tomorrow afternoon. It was relentless, but ever so necessary.

The question following that train of thought caught him off-guard.

"Am I single?" he returned. "Yes - work tends to make things diffififcult. Not many women out there like the whole, you know, traveling and not talking about it... thing." Red eyes narrowed and focused on the swaying quarian across from him. "Why? You're... bonded, aren't you?"

"Throwing up in your suit is a terrible idea, yeah. Terrible terrible terrible. You will live to regret it until the end of your days. Not that you have to worry about it, because you're not in a suit. For which you should be grateful."

Yeah, she was definitely drunk. So much so, in fact, that she completely missed the implications of Cerastes' question and just took it completely at face value.

"Oh, yeah, bonded. Two years now!" Ana exclaimed proudly, stretching her legs (and nudging part of the board out of the way to make room for them). "Lemme tell you, Cerastes, I made out like a bandit in that regard, I got--well, I guess you've probably seen my bondmate, since you're all about information and she's kinda famous? Isn't she just...perfect? I mean, she's shapely, she's got nice eyes, a really pretty smile, joint flexion mods..." She grinned a little under the faceplate. "Tastes like tula berries."

Better days.

"And she's so sweet, like inhumanly kind. It's almost unreal how nice she is to people, she just kinda...puts her heart into everything, I guess, loves everybody. She's like the anti-me." Ana snorted. "And somehow that makes my relationship the best and worst thing in the whole fucking galaxy, you know?"

Two separate sides of Cerastes were presently at war with one another.

On the one hand, there was the red-blooded male within him. That side begged for an escape from the upcoming conversation, to go out into the streets of Nos Astra, find a hooker, and fuck her until the sun came up (or he fell asleep, it's up to you which one comes first*). Anything would be better than listening to a woman he'd just met talk about how wonderful her relationship was.

Then there was the intellectual side of him. This was the side that enjoyed stimulating conversation, the arts, and long moments spent lost in thought as he stared into an empty mug of coffee. It was the side that had made him line the shots up so perfectly earlier. This side told him to be patient and to listen, just as he always did, but the alcohol was making it a struggle.

In the end, the red-blooded male was forced into retreat. Cerastes folded his arms atop the table and leaned forward, forcing himself to pay attention to the words Ana was saying instead of the supple curves of her legs.

"And this," he said, "is the part where you say 'but', isn't it? Your description sounds a bit too perfect."

He fiddled with a few pieces on the board, nudging them around for fun while the conversation bloomed.

"Well, I said 'and worst' for a reason."

This...wasn't really something that Ana'Therion should be talking about to recent acquaintances, even if they had passed the drunken threshold to reach 'pretty good friends' status. Normally, she'd be a little more reticent about issues like this (unless they were immediately relevant, as they had been with Taleeze); it was a sign of weakness, after all.

Then again, normally, she would have a much lower blood alcohol level. There went the inhibitions.

"I mean, like...look, Cerastes, you know I'm burned, right? How I lost my eyes. Well, sort of, I think that was partly the shards from the explosion - I'm getting off topic. My point is that one, most of the time I'm either on so many painkillers I'm semiconscious or my skin feels like it's cracking open, and two...uhhh...okay, look, if I depolarized my faceplate you'd throw up. Seriously. No eyes, heavy scarring, the works. How in the sweet fuck am I supposed to keep her satisfied, Cerastes? She's...I mean, she's a complete nymphomaniac. Like, you would not believe. And when we got bonded I thought 'oh hey, that's not a problem, I've got enough appetite for three' but then the war happened and the geth happened and then this and..."

Ana sat up straight, which resulted in a lot of fumbling because she still had her feet up. A few moments of retracting her legs later, she leaned all wobbly-like on the kitchen island and seethed.

"...and I mean, I'm fucking maimed, Cerastes, I'm ugly, I'm easily fatigued, I can't do anything except meld anymore and that's got some serious diminishing fucking returns, you know? So here I am, still with the gorgeous nympho bondmate, and I can't do anything to help her with that. Do you realize how powerless that makes me feel?"

She was vaguely aware that this was not the kind of information that you threw at an information broker, even if they were a drinking buddy, but there was something vaguely cathartic about finally getting all of this out that kept the quarian going.

Cerastes did what he was good at: he listened.

The drell remained quiet as Ana vented, her words ringing heavy in the sudden quiet of the room they'd rented (well, he'd rented, really; a few questionable details about the owner had secured it for the foreseeable future). He let her talk, sitting silently across from her while she started to get off of her chest a bounty of pains he sensed she'd held onto for far too long, now. After all, who does a therapist talk to? She'd know all of the tricks, the subtle aspects of conversation with another professional. She probably hadn't truly ranted about her situation, not yet.

When at length she paused, he nodded and shifted in his seat. He wasn't uncomfortable, but he wanted her to hear him, to know that he hadn't gone absent for the duration of her speech.

"I do," he answered. Memories were swallowed along with a shot - he needed it, now. The liquor was starting to swim in his skull, but it was also making him more relaxed. "It's as though you're stuck in place, but the world, the galaxy, it's still moving without you."

Perhaps their disabilities (or rather, his past one) were different, but the sentiments remained the same.

"Have you spoken to her about this? Frankly, now. No uncertain terms."

It felt odd to be on the other side of this kind of conversation. Ana had steadily listened through more motivation/obstacle rants than she could remember, picking out the critical elements of each one. When you got to this point, with the more well-adjusted types, that was generally when you were making progress - they got all the frustration (not necessarily bile or ugliness; hell, sometimes it was even something like aspirations or optimism) out at once in a way that they couldn't do in a socially-acceptable context. That was when you could start really working on them.

Cerastes' observation, therefore, was met warmly. "Exactly!" Ana practically yelled, jabbing a finger at him. "You're exactly right! Everything just...it moves on without me! I mean, I can't provide for her the way I used to, so now she's out escorting and dancing and being in fucking porn spinoffs of incidents that killed millions of people, and..." She shook briefly - it was impossible to cry, and so the outburst of frustration mostly just caused her to heave. "Cerastes, I'm...I feel like a cuckold, to put it bluntly. I'm useless to her; the most I can provide at this point is less real help at the office than we get from our fucking secretary and the same level of conversation she probably gets from most of her clients, and in return I'm eating up income and taking space in the apartment and keeping her in a relationship that's probably not even good for her. She deserves better, much much better than this."

She rested the side of her head on her biceps, miserable and thoroughly inebriated.

"I just love her so much, Cerastes. And that's why I want her to have the best of everything she needs, and I can't provide that, and she's getting it elsewhere, and I..." Ana took a breath and made the plunge. "...and I resent that. I...yeah. I'm not taking that back. I resent it. I resent that life has left me behind, that it's inconveniencing her at the same time that it's rendering me totally impotent. And I feel guilty about resenting it, which makes me even more resentful." She clasped her hands to the side of her helmet, looking a little horrified at herself. "And...oh, Keelah, I hate myself for this, but sometimes I resent Daia for it, for still being able to go out and do what she loves while I can't anymore, just because of random chance and some geth, and what the fuck is wrong with me for thinking that? How wildly, staggeringly selfish is that, Cerastes?"

There it was. The dirty little secret, the breakthrough moment she always looked for in patient interviews. It was out now.

"That's why I haven't tried to talk to her about it," she breathed, faceplate practically in her hands. "She wants me to be happy too - ancestors, she's amazing, the best in the whole galaxy - and if I told her about all that she'd probably try to stop escorting or whatever and then she'd be unhappy and it'd be because of me and then I'd feel even worse, Cerastes. That's like the last thing I want right now."

It was a lot to take in. Even for someone half as attentive as he was, Ana had just dropped several sorts of bombs, all of which had the capability to level countrysides. Responding to this would take a certain degree of caution and levelness; he didn't want to say the wrong thing and set her back, but not responding would be even worse, somehow. Adding in the fact that she was a woman and, well, he needed to mind his words.

"For as much research as I do, Ms. Ana, I am not privy to the intricacies of relationships," he answered, speaking as honestly as possible. "However, it sounds to me as though you are in half of a marriage right now. You have the emotional connection, but, experienced or no, we both know that it extends beyond that, and - if I may say - it sounds," a pause as he leaned his weight into an elbow on the island, just to steady himself; he was still drunk, after all, "to me, here, it sounds as though she's essentially carrying on a marriage outside of your home."

Hopefully, she wouldn't find that insulting. This was the mere opinion of an outsider looking in; he'd never been in a successful long-term relationship, and he didn't suspect he ever would.

"It isn't selfish to seek your own happiness," he continued. His free hand reached out and carefully started moving the shot glasses to the side, just in case she put her feet up again. "It seems to me, again, if I may say so, that you are sacrificing your own happiness in the pursuit of hers. Letting things sit and simmer... that will only hurt the both of you."

Red eyes peered out in the dim light, surveyed her as she suffered against the kitchen island.

"Perhaps you would like to sit down on the couch? You will find back support, there, it might be less painful for you."

It might have been insulting if Ana were sober, but ironically, in her sloshed state she managed to interpret Cerastes' intent correctly. Alcohol, the great social lubricant.

"Marriages, yeah," she said mournfully, leaning forward a little harder on the stool. "She shouldn't have to, the poor thing - it's my responsibility, and I've let her down, and...I don't really have a short-term means of fixing this, Cerastes, and I don't think it can wait for a long-term means." It probably couldn't - at the current rate she was building up the expense account for the regen treatment, it'd be quite a while before any kind of 'long-term solution' could be implemented.

At the drell's offer, Ana rose gingerly, clinging to the kitchen island. "Yeah...yeah, I should probably sit down. Stools are bad for your posture. You probably knew that, though. Uh...where's...hang on..." Trying to find the couch via nerve feedback, while thoroughly drunk and not totally sure of her center of gravity, was an adventure, to say the last. After a few seconds, though, Ana'Therion located it and made her way over with wobbly, tentative steps. The days of 'crucifixion heels', thankfully, were gone - that would've pretty much ensured a head-over-heels accident - and so she only came close to falling over three or four times. At last, the quarian flopped down onto the soft cushions, resting in kind of a half-upright position against the couch's back. She cringed at first (healing rib, courtesy of one Ms. Shirin Vedral), and then breathed out a pained sigh and seemed to relax.

"I just...I can't do it, Cerastes." Okay, yeah, the couch was a lot more comfortable. "If I bring this up, Daia's going to change her lifestyle to accommodate me - I know she will because that's the kind of person she is, so don't argue with me - and then she'll be unhappy and I can't take that."

Her head lolled back to stare at the ceiling. Or, well, 'stare'.

"Ancestors. You know, my father used to say I ruined everything I involved myself in. Historically, that prediction's got a pretty good track record."

Getting Ana'therion to the couch without insulting her pride was something of an adventure in and of itself. Cerastes carefully guided her, nudging the woman ever-so-slightly when she headed in the wrong direction, and eventually ensured her arrival to the couch in the other room. It sat before an enormous, holographic TV; a coffee table centered the room, while a loveseat and a single chair accompanied it on either side. Briefly, Cerastes contemplated turning on the lights, but a glance towards the open window advised him otherwise. He didn't feel comfortable with his silhouette illuminated to all of Nos Astra.

"You are beginning to think in pure negatives," he remarked, once the quarian had settled in. Cerastes hesitated long enough to run a hand over his spines, then flopped down onto the seat beside her. The couch was... surprisingly comfortable, considering their environment. Everything really was better on Illium.

Oof. The change in gravity had affected his sobriety; he leaned back slowly and let his head rest on the top of the couch while he gathered his bearings. Eventually, he resumed, "I sincerely doubt you've 'let her down,' although perhaps you are both experiencing issues in the relationship. What do you believe you should do?"

He was completely awful at this. Analytical perspectives were easy, but emotional comprehension was another story. "Hold on - I'll be right back."

The drell rose again and stumbled into the kitchen. His return beside Ana was indicated by a dip in the seat next to her, followed by a glass of water pressed into her hand.

It was growing difficult to stay focused on the conversation - the couch was really nice, and there was a considerable amount of Red Devil in Ana'Therion's system.

"I don't just think in negatives," she argued weakly, crossing her legs. "I'm fortunate. I try to keep that in mind, you know? Avert the whole 'whining quarian' thing. Technically I shouldn't even be alive, but here I am, and I'm bonded to the most wonderful person in the galaxy, and I've got a place to live and a steady income (albeit mostly through nepotism). So there's all that. My situation's really much better than it should be."

A sigh escaped Ana's lips. There was always a 'but', wasn't there? "But you're right, this whole situation has me despairing. Because I don't know what I should do. Any option just seems like it'd make things worse. Keelah, look at me, two postgrad degrees specifically in understanding people and here I am unable to solve a single inter...interp...a single relationship problem."

The glass of water was pressed into her hands, and she puzzled over it for a second before realizing what it was and the intent behind it.

"Uh...'preciate it, Cerastes, but I can't drink this. 'snot purified."

Drowsiness was beginning to set in, and her mind started to feel progressively heavier.

Technically speaking, Cerastes was probably the worst person to come to for relationship advice. He'd never pursued anything steady, not really; an early life of being tossed from one foster home to the next, combined with his immediate succession into the information industry meant there was never much of a chance, although he wasn't sure if he'd have been interested anyways. These sorts of things took time and patience, and more importantly, they also took away from hours that could be spent advancing oneself professionally.

That said, Ana had managed it somehow. Her life sounded so bizarre to him, given the nature of her past and present profession. His lips thinned as he thought of how to comfort her, now that the two of them had near-equal amounts of alcohol sloshing in their systems.

"Yes, but your degrees are in studying other individuals and their associations, not your own," he settled for. "You are personally involved, meaning you're also struggling - damnit, that's right, it isn't -" he took the glass of water back from her and chugged it, instead. "Anyways, it means you can't truly separate yourself from the situation at hand, which I assume is vastly different from the sessions you do professionally. You are being too critical of yourself."

After setting the empty glass down on the coffee table, he reached up and started to undo his tie. He felt like it was choking him. Seconds later, it was folded and placed beside the glass, and the top button of his shirt - just below his throat - had been undone. Much better. He could breathe now. Ana, on the other hand, looked as though she were about to fall over at any second; the Red Devil must have hit her hard.

"You look tired, Ana."

"Yeah. Yeah, any data would be spurious, cause involving myself means it's not double-blind, or even single-blind, I guess. Y'know, bias."

What was the difference between sampling bias and sampling error again? She couldn't remember, which bothered her. Not enough to disturb her from drifting off, mind.

"'mnot tired," Ana insisted, blearily leaning on Cerastes. "Just tipsy, 'sall. I mean I wouldn't trust myself drivin', but...well, I guess I wouldn't do that anyway. Cause I can't see."

Her head lolled onto the drell's shoulder with exhausted carelessness.

"Look, 'mjust gonna lie down for a minute, then I'll head back. So feel free to sleep it off, ya...lightweight. Oh man, this's a nice couch, is it one of those..."

That sentence mercifully died in medias res, as Ana'Therion lost her train of thought and trailed off into a contented 'hrrrm'. After a moment, she was sleeping peacefully.

Thankfully, she didn't snore.

What a strange turn of events. The general unpleasantness of the past few months had somehow wound up with him sitting on a couch with a lovely young woman, having a conversation about matters far too personal for a second encounter. Even so, he didn't particularly mind; any exchange without him being assaulted, harassed, or tortured was a good exchange to him.

As Ana gradually slumped against his shoulder, Cerastes hummed a dry "mmmhm" at her bleary protests against slumber. Yeah, she was out, which... meant he was stuck there until she woke up. His jaw tensed at the thought - he had things to do, still - but eventually, the Red Devil overcame him as well.

With a reluctant sigh, Cerastes slid his arm gingerly around Ana, then let his head fall back against the couch.

Sleep never came quickly, but at least tonight, amidst the alcohol and the warmth of someone beside him, it came at all.

Fin