[Citadel Noir, Tayseri Ward] Paradise

This area of Tayseri Ward had once been reasonably nice, with reputable bars, restaurants and clubs, a CSec precint rarely called to anything beyond the odd fight and drug deal. Now, however, it had been swamped by refugees and desperate sorts, seen the sort of crime once unimaginable on the Citadel, even on the Wards. The local CSec officers had an unenviable job, one they struggled with and one they were criticized for.

People were grumbling. About the refugees who remained two years after they'd been driven from their homes, about the restless planet the station now orbited, about CSec's apparent inability to make the streets safe, about a dozen things both large and small.

But life went on. The Council sat in their tower, the Alliance ran their military government, people went to work, went to bed, laughed and cried.

But today?

Today was a special day. Soon they'd all know.

Going to be late. Can't be late. I've been patient, haven't I? Filth. Keep walking. CSec fumbles. They'll see but they'll never see me.

Taleeze was coming from the apartment building in the upper wards where she was residing for the near future. Exiting the public transport at a big intersection, she looked around, looking for her club and also to get a feeling for the area.
It was the area that just wasn’t lower but not yet the upper wards, no-man’s land, not exactly defined in class and dominated by business districts and the occasional entertainment mile, with some cheaper, but not completely run down apartment blocks.

Before the war it may have seen better days and it probably was again headed that way but not fully there yet. The effect of the lower wards still being a mixed refugee and shelter affair was affecting the social structure.

The crowd in the streets was mix of everything, various species and types, a lot of humans and asari but also turians or the occasional batarian, some carrying money, some seemingly looking for odd jobs or just passing through. And a keeper doing keepery things at a terminal, not so many krogans or salarians from a first glance.

The club had advertised itself as being a newly refurbished building in the vicinity of the public transit intersection the asari maiden was coming from. The block was mostly entertainment and shopping and all of them newly built after the war. There only was one other stripclub at the other end of the block, so not much in terms of direct competition.

Taleeze entered the “Blue Line” to find out if the club would live up to what the manager had shown on the extranet …

The train line slowed, pulling into the station in a rush of displaced air and the whisper of magnetic counterlocks. Warning chimes, a calm, recorded message in Palavian Standard, repeated once more in a half musical half guttural trade tongue from worlds far, far outside the bounds of the Citadel.

The doors cycled open and the turian man shifted the sack of groceries he held, cradled in one arm, as he stepped off onto the platform at Anigladion. One part of the metal skinned mass; five dozen people speaking half a dozen different language all filtered through the sterile tones of his translator.

Home.

Home sweet home.

He set off, formal jacket tucked into the waistband of his slacks, swishing behind him. Sleeves on his undershirt rolled up to the elbow, showing off toned muscle and rows of elegantly inked calligraphy. Pausing now and again to adjust his grip the man walked past the towering, multi-spired, arcologies, the densely packed apartments that sprawled vertically and horizontally across the levels, through the cluttered, clustered, and oh so very alive markets that lined the streets. The turian stopped by one of the aforementioned towers, a nod to the doorman, elevator up, dropping the foodstuffs off aaaaand

dammit, they hadn't bagged his ice cream.

Pause. Awkward glance about the well furnished apartment as he wrestled with the innate sanctity and desire of the matter. But he had already been cheating. But he had already paid for it. But

Sigh.

Silvery talons rubbed the moxie dozing on the couch (it hadn't bothered to get up to see him the dick) before he stepped out again, jacket still trailing behind him. It was outside the district but not all that far, he could walk.

'Hounds In The Shadows contains three instances of heretical material, seventeen of excessive explicit content and one instance of rebellion-'. The typing stopped for a few seconds before 'one' was replaced with 'two'. The report continued, detailing what parts of the book could possibly offend the general public. As a book, it was distinctly average, a starport thriller, but quality wasn't the point.

The next cubicle over was a drell, Damvid, making a similar report. "Where do you want to get lunch Has?" Haseri often wondered what would happen if Damvid used those two other syllables, but it was so far into their working relationship, the hanar did not care any more.

"A new batarian place opened last month on Shalta-Aroch and it is getting fairly good reviews. Perhaps we can see if they have anything to beat the ghost pepper." Now that was an afternoon. It was surprising how little information there was on drell interaction with capsaicin.

"Hmm, no. I was thinking Leeliana's again." It was a small cafe on Tayseri, asari run. They had been several times in the last month and there was not really any hanar food. He had to get food from the FishNThings kiosk on the way back.

But Haseri had figured out why the drell always suggested it. "We have been through this. She is bonded."

"To a salarian. Which means I only have to play the waiting game."

Had hanar been more confrontational people, Haseri would have argued. Instead he said, "Let this one just finish this report. Then Leeliana's."

At the local C-SEC office, it seemed to be business as usual. A lieutenant lifted a mug of coffee to his lips and leaned back into his uncomfortable chair, his eyes scanning quickly across the terminal screen in front of him. A form was there, empty of all but an image of a mugshot of a injured turian man. He briefly lifted a handheld datapad, going over relevant information.

The man rubbed at his nose with his thumb and cleared his throat, going over his prepared notes, which filled relevant boxes on the screen as he read them aloud. "Speech to text on. Suspect believed to be a member of the Lower Tayseri Elite. Suspect apprehended at 14:38 after a brief shootout in which suspect was apprehended without injury or loss of life to nearby civilians. Suspect is charged with attempted homicide, illegal possession of a contraband firearm, attempted assault on a C-SEC officer and resisting arrest."

The man drummed his hands on his desk for a moment, looking at the completed arrest incident form. He lifted his hands to the screen, sending it off to his superior. Once again afterward, he reclined back, finishing off his coffee.

"How MANY of you?", blurted Michelle.
She was sitting on Thessian grass, on a little park near the Lower Tayseri Bazaar. In front of her were six young homeless kids. Duct rats.
"39 ma'am", quietly answered Blitzy, the asari who was leading the small troupe.
"39 of you want me to find you shelters?"
"Correct ma'am. The sooner the better if you please."

Michelle pinched her nose. On paper finding refuge for duct rats is her first mission. In practice it didn't happen often because a : most shelters were almost packed to capacity and b:most rats didn't trust shelters and considered themselves better off in the ducts.
When kids asked for shelter it was usually for a small duration, and never in such numbers. Usually she managed to deal with other shelters and some government agencies to find room, but this time... She would need to call all the shelters, make concessions, check other possible vacancies in other levels...

"Listen this won't be easy", she explained diplomatically. "There's a lot of you, and that recent crash caused a lot of people to lose their home for a little while or get stranded in Tayseri. Meaning the ward have even less room to spare than usual...
I have to ask, why? What made all of you guys want shelter all of a sudden?"

The kids eyed each other, and Blitzy talked again, in an ever lower tone.

"It's Barebutt Tarus ma'am..."

Michelle didn't know this colorfully named individual, but she guessed he was a homeless person living in those kids' territory.

"What about him?"

"He's dead. Little Plippy saw him, and lost his meal. It was bad ma'am."

"Well that's tragic for sure, but..."

"It was BAD ma'am.", interrupted Blitzy, genuine fear in her eyes.

Michelle shut up. She had learned to trust the kids' instincts. They were fleeing a tangible threat.

"I'll make some calls", simply said the charity worker.

Celeste wasn't merely wandering around, doing her thing and generally getting by. The moment her ship had requested permission to dock, she'd been flagged in C-Sec's databases. She'd been kept waiting for forty-five minutes, which was probably equal parts dick-measuring and honestly not having the space for her to land. Then she checked and double-checked everything she had on her person with the officers that had come to meet her, making sure permits and the like were all in order. They gently but firmly requested her presence at the precinct, which she was going to suggest herself anyway so there was no problem there.

There's no such thing as being too careful. If you say there is, you're probably out to get me.

So that left Celeste where she was now, in the department head's office, hands folded and posture non-threatening, explaining over and over and over that she wasn't going to blow up one of the station arms because her people made a habit of horrible, horrible reputations.

"Hard as it is to say, there are times when I really do think you are even more positively angelic than normal." Jacob said, laying face down on the parlor table and enjoying the feeling of tightly controlled pressure being applied through ten tiny, moving points on his back. He took deep breaths and listened to the soft traditional music flowing throughout the little shop, feeling the stresses of yet another week of work more grating than it should be melting out of him thanks to the efforts of his bride-to-be. "However, I cannot possibly deny that this is one such time."

"You're a hopeless flatterer," Aya said from her walking handstand on his back, her legs alternating between flexed and straight as she shifted her center of gravity to vary how deeply her fingers plunged into her lover's enviably creamy skin and rippling muscles. There were a number of times when she couldn't help but wonder how somebody with his role in life ever found the time to keep his body in this superb physical condition. Nevertheless, she did enjoy it so, even when it made those times where she used her work-related skills for his benefit more difficult than it was for most of her actual clients, but given how much she enjoyed doing it and also how much she loved when he used his work-related skills for her benefit, she found herself unable to find reason to complain. "Remind me to come to you whenever I stop feeling pretty."

"'Stop feeling pretty'? Why in the name of the ancestral stars would you ever do such a thing?"

"I don't know... maybe because sometimes I visit you in your boss's office building, which just so happens to be populated exclusively the most beautiful people in the galaxy?"

"It may seem that way to you, but from my perspective, it certainly is not whenever you are not there."

"Thessia-clan, a moment of your time for our campaign?"
"I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a rush."
"Now you look like a lady who's going places!"
"I am indeed - over that way, to be specific. If you'll excuse me."
"Matriarch, would you care to share your views on--"
"No, I wouldn't."

Damned canvassers. All wanting the same thing from her; licence to use her status to lend credibility to whatever it was they were campaigning about or advertising. Mirala wasn't particularly well-known, or respected - beyond some ripples she'd made for daring to insinuate that a matriarch was no less fallible than anyone else - but for many, just her title was enough.

She strode down the street, heading for her target destination of a small boutique of sorts, one of the few remaining importers of obscure asari spirits. Zelana's birthday was approaching, and she'd hit upon the idea of getting her a bottle of Lusian v'noran.

A hundred metres and six attempts to tell these strangers who insisted upon bothering her to bugger off without actually using the phrase, and she was confronted with something she'd fervently hoped against since disembarking from rapid transit.
"Out for lunch".
Mirala sighed. Nothing for it but to find somewhere to sit down and bury herself in her omnitool for a while.

Joset Phraag had taken a leaf from the humans' book, and made a resolution for the new year. He would make every effort to actually participate, to become a fully functioning member of his community. It was harder, he now decided, than it looked. There were... complications.

With an ever-increasing sense of guilt, he held the bag tight in his three-fingered hand as he joined Farlon outside the store. His turian companion raised a quizzical brow at the sight of the purchase.

"What's in the bag?"

"Er, just the essentials. Just - nothing". Cover story, he needed to think of these things...

Farlon reached out a hand and lifted the item from its wrappings. "Official series guide, season one, The Talat Five. Is this a children's show?"

"It's a gift. For a nephew".

"Right. Do you even remember the name of any of your nephews?" Joset didn't like the turian grin. Friends shouldn't have that many teeth.

"Merrih. He's four".

"Every salarian family on your continent has a Merrih".

"Okay, alright, it's for me".

It was more than casual entertainment, though. Definitely more than that. The salarian mind liked to find patterns; it locked onto repetition, grasped hold of similarities, and constructed - at a million miles a minute - patterns of fractal order from a universe of chaos. Somehow, the other salarians seemed to take it in stride, but for Joset Phraag it was different. The more he aged, the more it seemed to him that the galaxy was speeding out of control, that he was left trying desperately to hold on to a sense of meaning. He couldn't keep up anymore, so he'd shut it all out, rejected all stimulus, so his mind wouldn't torment him with its desperate attempts to make sense of things. Sometimes, he wondered if it was just him, if he was the problem, that he wasn't the sane one like he'd always decided, that he was in fact the warped one.

Hence his resolution. He would prove himself wrong. He would take uneasy steps back into relevance, show that he could handle it. That being here, on the station, was his choice and not his failing. Try, above all, to be just a little more social. To Farlon's immense surprise, he had told the turian "yes" when given the usual half-hearted invitation to join him. And here they were. Human New Year sales; the human-run businesses of the five wards were the target of Farlon's meticulously planned offensive, assaulted with cheery turian precision. And what sort of salarian wouldn't use the opportunity to acquire some useful intelligence?

Official season guide...

"I had no idea you watched cartoons, Joset".

"It's for older children". He flushed at how defensive he sounded.

"What's it about?"

"Well. I mean, it's complicated, but there are these five salarian youths -"

"The Talat Five?"

"Right. Yes. Exactly. So each of them embodies one of the five core precepts of knowledge, and, well, they're tasked with resisting the plans of this corrupt politician to gain magical control of the Union and so undermine the... galactic order". He flushed again, skin taking on a greener tint. "There's all this complicated backstory". He waved his hands in a 'never mind' fashion, as though making excuses for it. "So the Five are summoned to Talat to become guardians of the, er, the magics. Keeping the knowledge of the precepts safe. Saving the world, protecting the community, trying to uncover the enemy's secrets, that sort of thing".

"It sounds almost turian".

Joset assumed that was approval.

"I knew the original. It was quite dark, actually, and it was a little frightening sometimes, but, honestly? That just made us love it". He squirmed. "Part of me thinks - I need to know what's changed. I need to see if it's just... I need to know how we see ourselves now. Whether I've changed or they have and if the me that used to watch this and be... proud... to be Sur'Keshian... if there's still any overlap with who I am now".

He trailed off helplessly. Farlon looked genuinely thoughtful. "Perhaps you have rediscovered the Cause, my friend". He gave Joset a serious look. "If so, I think it's about time".

Oh Wheel, it was going to become another civics lesson. Never get a turian talking about community values.

I shouldn't have bought this...

The Goddess must surely hate her. That was the only explanation for her being assigned as T'Jurali's partner for the third time this month.

Her pistol was looking more and more inviting by the minute.

They were doing a foot patrol down one of the streets in the shopping district, trying to look visible. There'd been a few fights and scuffles in the area the last weekend and her lieutenant was determined it wouldn't happen again. The Presidium was already breathing down their necks about the crime rate, best not to have Westerlund News making a huge story about a couple of bar fights. Maiha was feeling like she could handle anything these people could throw at her, between the lean, narrow taser on one hip and the retracted baton beside it.

There was also her Paladin pistol and her ability to throw people into walls with eight hundred newtons of force, but she was hoping to avoid that.

Thooough, she could get on board with applying a warp field to T'Jurali's face, since now she was saying that Maiha absolutely had to let her get her some crystals to decorate her facial markings with since she looked so bland. And maybe she ought to get some sharpening or tattooing done because they were looking a bit fuzzy.

Fuzzy! She personally thought her facial markings were perfectly fine. And she wasn't a huntress, to subject herself to tattoos.

But no, warping would probably have her lose her job since her CSec omnitool was monitoring her biotic usage and anyway, T'Jurali was a decent biotic so it'd probably just degenerate into a biotic duel and that would probably be bad.

"Turians looove sharp facial tattoos and markings. I think it's sort of familiar for them."

Maiha sighed, drawing the sound out, "I'm an asari, not a turian."

T'Jurali rolled her eyes, "By the goddess, Denarius, it's like you want to end up bonded to another asari!"

Ahaha. Ha. Quick, change the subject.

"Look, can we just do the patrol?" Great job. Really smooth and not at all conspicuous.

"Just trying to make conversation. Goddess."

"How about the new Sheatara line that came out recently?" That's better. Hopefully, "I would die for a pair of those boots." Maybe not die, but she would sacrifice two months of her paycheck for them.

"By the goddess, I know right?"

The area of Tayseri Ward so many found themselves in was nicknamed 'the Cross', after it's shape: two long avenues extending from on of the district's transport hubs. These streets were more corridors, silver metal surrounding the crowds as they went about their business, the walls covered in bright, lurid advertising in High Thessian, Palaven Standard and a dominant salarian dialect. The Cross, servicing the nearby apartment blocks and residential areas had everything from Tarvius' Ice Cream Parlour, Leeliana's Cafe to stores to bars and two strip clubs, though the last were quiet this early.

Zabilaosh District had been originally a salarian area but had seen an influx of other species recently, those who could afford to leave Lower Tayseri and some who couldn't. Hence the strip clubs, much to its original inhabitant's bemusement.

If one was approaching the south end of the Cross, whether to get to the ice cream Parlour or the cafe, one could continue around the curve of the avenue or take a short cut-through a darker corridor that worked between blocks of shops. All was quiet as the two asari officers continued their patrol.
***
The station was quiet, the officers doing paperwork, drinking coffee and in one detective's case, playing an OT game while the homicide lieutenant wasn't looking. In another part of the station, the department head tapped a dark talon against her desk and cursed the spirits who'd decided she had to deal with this.

"What's your purpose here?"

It was probably the fourteenth time Celeste had heard that from a jumpy CSec officer today.

***

Finding homes for thirty nine duct rats wasn't easy, but they did show the charity worker where they were running from-a network of maintenance tunnels underneath their feet, a spiderweb of tunnels that ran from Lower Tayseri to Zabilaosh, stopping at its neighboring district, the Storm Anointed Coral of the Eastern Sea, a flooded neighborhood inhabited by the hanar.

What she did with this information was up to her.

***

One would think that the shopkeeper of the liquor boutique would be back by now, but the sign remained stubbornly there. And there were only so many games of Hexegon Warriors you could play before the bright lights and cheery music made your head hurt.

***

In the midst of Joset Phraag's ordeal (also known as a turian civics lecture) a figure stumbled into the two of them, almost drunkenly. There was no apology and the person was gone quickly, half stumbling into a narrow corridor.

Leaving behind a streak of something dark blue, maybe purple, on Joset's sleeve.

Walking. Humming. An off the cuff twirl, half a dance move in time with the beat pulsing from the pair of earpieces nestled in the hollows of his plated skull. His jacket, still firmly tucked in his waistband snapping and swirling in time like overlarge coattails.

A pause. A half embarrassed, half pleased glance up and down the titanic corridor to see if anyone had noticed. Mixed disappointment and relief that nobody had, or, if they did, hadn't cared at all really.

The man was jaunty, positively energetic in fact. I mean why not? Ice cream! A small thing yeah, a kinda dumb thing if one was going to be perfectly honest. But it was a nice thing. And, you know, it was nice having nice things.

...Did that sound stupid? That sounded stupid didn't it?

But, you know, it was kinda the truth. A long day with something sweet at the end was better than one without. A nice little treat, something to look forward too. Kicking up his feet, digging in, a bread and meat be-stained plate sitting on the coffee table, a cold drink at hand. Maybe a good book...oh! He still had those couple episodes of We Who Rise to get through, been meaning to do that for awhile now. Season finale tomorrow and all, going to hang out with some people from the office and catch it together.

Reminder: make dip.

Pleasant not-quite mundanity. The comforts of a regular, day to day life with something to happily anticipate at the end. A twist, a challenge here and there to keep things lively and exciting and interesting. A little boring now and again? Well, yeah. But if anything the whole affair, the neat balance between total comfort and pure chaos, made the world a little brighter, not dulled with the weight of repetition or dinged by inevitable ennui as some might say. The corridor length displays, explosions of color, a riot of iridescent noise, were a pleasant backdrop. A shiny, sprawling framework for his walk rather than grating (though, to be fair, he still had his headphones in, I mean, happy yeah but not an idiot). The stars and blue torched ships above like a fistful of jewels tossed casually across that great, dark expanse. Still beautiful. Still enrapturing.

Some people complained about the state of the Ward. About the Terminus trash defacing their precious neighborhoods with their existence. About the crime or wreck and ruin that still blotched across the Ward like rot across the boughs of a tree. Some people saw the worst everywhere they looked. And even our own dancing turian wasn't immune. He had bad days of his own. Sad days. Mad days. But today had been a good day, was going to be a good day, and he was determined to enjoy it through to the very end.

So really, when the turn off came for the dimly alleyway, he thought nothing of it. Ducking off the main thoroughfare, his humming now under the breath singing.

What? It was just dark. And out of all the things to be afraid of, "the dark" was a bit silly.

Losing.
The will.
To live.

Mirala had already beaten her own high score since she'd sat down. Its repeated insistence that she should "challenge her friends" amounted to so many wasted pixels, ever since Linya had got herself hooked and played it for sixteen consecutive hours before finally becoming the 6419th person to get a perfect score.

Enough was enough; the matriarch got to her feet, stopping those vulture-like canvassers in their tracks with a look that clearly spelled out where their intestines were likely to end up if they were to bother her again. She strode back over to the still obstinately locked entrance to the shop, scanning the sign's hologram with her omnitool. That gave her the establishment's extramail address, and wasn't it in for a surprise snotty email.
Small victories.
Scan complete, and Mirala turned on her heel, ready to set off home again. Pointless bloody trip.

The civics lecture ended abruptly, as something caught his friend's attention. "You've gotten something on your sleeve".

Oh, wonderful. That was all he needed. Farlon was wrong about one thing though; he hadn't gotten it on there, that shambling figure had as it brushed past them. What race or gender? He didn't know, he had been busy nodding and making agreeable noises, trying to look attentive. Why he still bothered to do so, he didn't know. They'd had this conversation at least once a month for years. If it even counted as "conversation". Mostly it was a monologue which he cringingly tried to endure, not wanting to hurt his friend's feelings.

"Is it that human sauce made from eggs? I think I'm allergic to that".

"Let me -" Farlon paused, a strange look on his face. He leaned in closer and - disconcertingly - seemed to sniff at the stain.

"I think that... might be blood". His voice was quiet, concerned.

"I'm bleeding?!" The shrill note of panic was back in his voice. Twisting his arm to see, he quickly realized that he wasn't. Instead of a rich green, the smear across his sleeve was a dark blue (turian?), maybe purple (asari?). Was Farlon correct? Well, turians were carnivores, they knew blood, right? Someone had gotten blood on him. Unsanitary, was what it was. Perfect.

Farlon looked concerned. "I think that person might have been hurt".

"They were shambling..."

"We should see if they need help". Already, Farlon was moving in the direction the figure had taken.

Joset stayed put. "They were probably going to a hospital, or something. Is there one near here? I don't know Tayseri very well".

"They still might need assistance. Let's go". Fresh out of a civics talk, Farlon was being more turian than ever, striding forth to aid a fellow citizen. Joset sighed and scrambled after him.

".... yeah and finally this the DJ booth." the manager, a human male in a dark blue suit and an alarmingly red shirt was showing her around the club. They had been going through the locker room (new, tidy), the bar (prices almost Illium!) and VIP area (decent bouncer material). Two asari dancers were doing pole exercises and a turian DJ was mixing stuff for the night. He pushed back his earphones and saluted Taleeze.

"Hey, I'm Rack, you must be Tal, right? Welcome to the club. We should be talking about some sound for you. You're going to be on tonight?"

Taleeze mock-saluted back. being cool with the DJ was most important.
"Hey there. Yeah, I'd be up to it, do one or two sets on the stage, get a feeling for everything right away."

The turian eyeballed her, as she struck a bit of a pose.
"Lemme get a set suggestion in like, ten. I can do that from looking at a dancer, you know? You'll like it."

"All right!" she turned to Marco, the manager guy. "Would that be cool?"

"Absolutely, that's why we have you after all. Just get dressed and find yourself a slot. I'll be in my office if you need anything."
He shook her hand and off he was. Taleeze was passing by the two other dancers, leaning onto the stage railings

"Hey girls. I am Taleeze, Tal for short...."

~~~~~~

It was just when Taleeze and Indria were trying synchronized spins on two poles, when the first customer entered the club, a human male in what looked like office work outfit. Prey.

Celeste was trying hard - very very hard - to keep her cool. She had been in this same room for over an hour now, answering the same question fourteen times (she had counted) to a cavalcade of new faces. But no matter what happened she had to keep her cool. If she snapped at these rookies, she'd probably get thrown in a tank while they verified her identity or something. Not that she was worried about the inconvenience to her - if they tried to throw the book at her, they'd get their asses seared from on high, and she definitely didn't want to put them through that. So she smiled as pleasantly as she was capable of.

"I am in pursuit of a suspect in one of my investigations," she said evenly. "Kong Haorong. You probably haven't heard of him, but he's been a thorn in Asari space's side ever since the war ended. His mercenary band was decimated in a lucky skirmish recently, and I have reason to believe he has fled to the Citadel, posing as a refugee."

A pause. "I know you're just doing your job, officer. But you'll find in my records that I have spent one hundred and ninety-four years and eight months as an official member of Citadel Security. I think, at least, I know how things work around here just as much as you do. Whatever your department needs, be it chaperones or hourly reports to the precinct, I'll be happy to comply. I just want to do my job."

"You can? That's brillant! Yes... Yes, that's very acceptable, I think they'll like it! I'll have someone contact you to "

The kids, who were watching a movie on a datapad Michelle had brought, left their nose when her long stream of calls seem to bear fruits.

"Found something miss Whiskers?"

"Yes!" answered Michelle, too pleased with herself to react to her unfortunate nickname, "I thought that maybe we could use the port being blocked to our advantage, and we can. A contact directed me to a volus captain who's shuttle is grounded for a few days. I contacted him, and he has the room for you guys! He'll just need hands doing various chores. Of course I can count on you guys to be good hosts Blitzy?"

The captain knew the risks that entailed with providing asylum to so many homeless kids, but his valuable were probably secured. Blitzy nodded gravely nonetheless.

"We'll watch each other, and do our part. We really need that place so we won't screw this up. Thank you very much."

"All right", said Michelle smiling, "I've contacted my colleagues Laykalar and Shaart, they'll come pick you up with the other packs at the bazaar and escort you there in... say two hours? I'll have to go take care of... something."

"Miss Rondor, don't go in there", simply said Blitzy.

"I'm not planning to, answered Michelle, but I need to do something about what you saw, and what you think is coming..."

But do what? she wondered as took her leave of the kids. A few weeks ago she would have called Snow and maybe they'd have gone in the tunnels after all. She tended to be more of a daredevil with him around. But he had taken his leave of LTD when his community service was finally up.

A few months before that she'd have contacted Cavalius, her C-Sec contact at the time. He was the kind of guy who would have listened to stories of duct rats fears and dead homeless, and took it seriously. But he was gone now too.

With Laykalar and Shaart taking care of the kids and on other projects, she was truly alone on this. And even if she was sporting a new personal shield she would not go in those tunnels alone. She decided to follow their line above level, as reconnaissance, and ended up at the cross, not having learned much. She was feeling a bit silly when she saw the familiar face of Maiha.

"Officer, hello, can I bother you for a second please?"

"Is that a matriarch over there?" Aya asked, indicating an asari having some kind of little, barely contained fit in front of an unopened liquor shop across the avenue from the cafe that she and her erstwhile lover were planning to head into for breakfast. Or was it dinner? Aya had progressively less idea of what to label each meal every day she was here. The best she could manage was to try to remember which meal she was on since she'd woken up. Given that the two had decided to trade massages before doing anything else, she decided to go with breakfast.

"Yes." Jacob answered, in a way that only a person experienced with the company of one could manage to: without even looking. It was a matter of simple inductive reasoning, really. His biotics may not have been stellar, but he was good at identifying powerhouses when he was near them. She was broadcasting like a large vehicle, something which was banned on these small streets. Not to mention that she drew so much attention from the local paparazzi and charity/social justice hawkers that he was able to get by unnoticed even with his minor celebrity status. Something he felt no shortage of gratitude for. "And if you can't guess by the wide berth she's being given, she wants to remain undisturbed."

"Right, ok then." The small woman entered the shop first, accepting the data package for the menu hologram to her OT and passing it on to Jake while she smiled to the waitress. "Hello! Two please, window booth."

"Of course! Right this way, ladies." The waitress replied, performing a quarter-pirouette that would have looked quite graceful to any untrained observers. The two customers were not, however, yet they kept their opinions of it to themselves as they followed her, even if Jake glared at her in a way that could've melted low-carbon steel.

"I am a man, ma'am." He said curtly. Were he subjected to the whims of his superior, the mistake would have been understandable, however the partying was over and he'd quickly found a barber to crop his flowing locks to a Caesar cut and was wearing a decidedly masculine sportcoat suit. Anybody who mistook him for a woman at this point was doing so deliberately.

Aya wanted to empathize with him, but she couldn't begin to conceive of the notion for being mistaken for the other gender. Besides that, she thought as she took her seat, there were more prevalent matters to attend to right now.

"Alright then, are you ready to order now, or would you like some time?"

"I'll have the buttermilk pancakes with apple butter and blackberry syrup!" she said cheerfully to the waitress. She smiled brightly, but made sure the undertone of having the waitress's children as a side order was clear if she didn't retract her offensive statement. Aya really hated it when anyone she liked was attacked, whether physically or verbally, overtly or not. "With two poached eggs and boiled bacon on the side!"

"And I'll have the blueberry waffles with a side of two eggs over medium and fried bacon. No syrup, please." Jacob said, watching the (apparently new, she looked kind of lively) matriarch fussing in front of the door to that liquor shop via peripheral vision. He also nudged Aya's foot with his own to get her to stop silently promising brutal murder over the minor mistake. This was Tayseri after all. The refugees weren't leaving despite the fact that he and several others in his tax bracket were offering to pay them to, and there was the matter of that small accident that nearly killed him and several hundred others with all that shrapnel. Nobody needed extra stress.

"All right then, and to drink?"

"The coffee special." They said in unison, doing more to disturb the waitress with that one actually harmless sentence than every death glare leading up to it.

Janine hummed to herself, an old Australian song from her childhood on Earth, as she wandered down the aisle of a supermarket. Yana was at school, and she didn't have any work shifts today, it was nice to have some time to herself. She spent several more minutes in the store before taking her shopping to one of the checkouts, paid, and then left.

Opting against going straight home to put the groceries away, she decided to meander through some of the areas and shops of Tayseri that she rarely got to see, admiring clothing, electronics and other such equipment through the shop windows. She then wandered on for another while before finding herself at a public mezzanine with a view of the Citadel and Earth itself. She went up to the railing and took in the view before her, something that never failed to take her breath away.

"All these years on the Citadel and the view never fails to amaze me" she mused to herself.