[Rannoch, Kassali] Here's to the Harvest.

The sun was beginning to set over the hills of Kassali, bathing the trees in shades of red, yellow, and orange. By chance, it was then that a furious wind began to blow and created the illusion that the sun had ignited the valley, turning it into a rolling blaze. But Milai missed all of this. He sat on the ground, eyes closed and smiling. For him, the simple sounds of nature, something you would never here growing up in the Fleet, were more beautiful than any spectacle unveiling before his eyes.

"Sir."

It was one of the newer recruits, Narro'Tal. Good kid, a bit clumsy. That would go away with practice.

"Sir, the provisions just arrived. You... asked me to let you know."

"Did I?" Milai groaned as he stood up. "I'll tell you, I'm getting old. But... can't say this is a bad way to spend my retirement years."

"Man, you got that right. Sir."

Milai smiled at the kids momentarily lapse into less formal speech. He would loosen up eventually, just like all Migrant Fleet Marines did. "Well, we have a party to attend."

---

The area surrounding the fala fields had been cleared out in preparation for tonight's event. In the place of the normal tractors, hoes, harvesting bins, and occasional geth, there now stood several bins of fala based nutripaste, some special meat based tubes, and even a few kegs of "Teallix's Finest" turian cana. After a long growing season, it was just what was needed to kick off the celebrations.

But what was sure to be more exciting than food or drink was the area that had been cleared out for the dancers. Circles of light dotted the area and the band had begun to tune its music. Already the air was beginning to feel electric.

More and more quarians poured in as the sun finally set, laughing and spirits already high. They were home, in the land of their ancestors. And for the first time in over 300 years, the fala was ripe and ready to be picked. It was time to party.

It was funny, for this being her homeworld, Raeta never had a chance to really see it, aside from a brief sightseeing tour after hostilities with the geth have ceased. She and the Rakol were kept busy tending to damaged ships for the war efforts, then came Tero's invitation to join the QCRR on Little Rannoch, her own desire to see more of the galaxy, She never had gone to the Citadel before. That reminded her, she should pay her parents a visit when she had the...

She remembered her parents reaction when...She wouldn't say dissapointment, as despite her decision to leave Rannoch, they still loved her very much. But they were of the majority view that the quarian race has no need to involve themselves with the galactic community. Who could blame them, they'd say, given their treatment the past three centuries. Not realizing that they and they alone were responsible for their fate, not the geth, not the Council, or anyone.

But today was not the time for that, now, Raeta had a party to attend. Following disembarkation, and a routine decontamination check, she hopped on the next transport for Kassali. When she arrived, the festivities looked to already be in full swing, quarians gathered either at the buffet table or near one of the fala groves, as she tried to find any familiar faces, perhaps her parents or some of the Rakol crew.

Sani...You'd love to see this, admit it

Lear was by no means a sociable Quarian. In fact, he preferred isolation over being around other people...

... Or at least that's how he used to be until the end of the war with the Reapers. After that, he slowly tried to be more sociable... But now?

Lear stayed out of the crowd, instead watching the various Geth. He didn't interact with them or bother them, of course. He'd only been on Rannoch one time before this, and it was to help examine some Geth tech (he was later shoved back into the Agnon, which he'd been serving on at the time). Coming back after a year, however... Lear felt pride. He was proud that he had helped to get the Quarians get back onto Rannoch, where they belonged.

Cleri... Alar... It's because of you both that I'm here... The Ancestors know I wish you could both be here with me... And dad... I know you're out there somewhere, and I know I'll see you again someday...

Lear quickly said a small prayer for his friends and family that hadn't made it to the homeworld, then went back to watching the large group of quarians.

I should join them, but...

"Mama go faster!" the quarian child shouted, tugging her mother towards the festival.

"If you make me move any faster Tualni, I'm going to trip and fall, and If I fall we will have to go home, because you got your mother's visor covered in dirt."

The child ceased her tugging and started walking a reasonable pace as both mother and child entered the fairgrounds. "You remember what I said right?" Ragia said, stopping close to the entrance and looking down at the child.

"No."

She sighed. "You will not wander off out of my sight. You will not talk to strangers. You will not harass any of the geth? Do you understand me, Tualni?"

"Yes..."

"Good! Now let's go enjoy the festival." Ragia said as they continued onwards into the fairgrounds.

Vivid colors filled the sky as the sun set, and for the longest time all Leeta could do was stand and stare. She held her hands clasped together against her chest, oblivious to the people around her. Branches of leaves swayed and danced as the wind began to roll through, and Leeta found herself grinning like a child as it caught at her robes. The sound of the wind itself was almost completely lost in the tangled web of conversation and music filling the air. She looked down, wondering what it would be like to feel the wind against her skin. Unlike many quarians, Leeta hadn't been able to bring herself to remove her visor or helmet the last time she was on Rannoch. She had only been here on business, but felt if she spent too much time here she'd never want to leave. She was even hesitant to return for Kassali's harvest festival, but failing to show up in support of her parents would have been unspeakably rude.

"Will you stay this time?" Leeta had only been with her parents an hour ago, but that question remained lodged in her head. "It is so wonderful compared to what we raised on the liveships...and soon there will be other agricultural districts that need people with your knowledge and experience..."

"Mother, you know I am only here for the festival...I am needed on the Citadel."

"The Citadel...the Citadel doesn't need you, your ship needs you, your clan needs you."
"Listen to your mother...you would be welcomed back--"

"Welcomed back? By you? Yes, and who else? My pilgrimage was interrupted--I brought nothing, contributed nothing. I have no real ship, no rightful clan, no earned place...I am...I am trying to be part of the Galactic community. There is more for me out there than there is here."

Leeta sighed and shook her head to clear her thoughts. Standing on Rannoch now, surrounded by people dancing and celebrating, she almost wanted to eat her own words. She looked down at her the earth beneath her feet, shuffling slightly in amazement that she was standing on ground not made of metal. There were no steel walls now, just open air and the feeling that she might start falling up into the sky if she weren't careful. Leeta smiled at her own childish thought and shook her head. She blinked for a few moments to clear her vision and finally tried to pay more attention to the people around her. Plenty of quarians were milling about, and there were more showing up still. People naturally seemed to converge into large groups, but there were a few like Leeta who were hanging back on the edges of the crowd. One in particular seemed unusually antisocial, watching everyone else instead of getting lost in the scenery like Leeta had been.

After a moment of debate, Leeta finally wandered over as discreetly as she could to stand near the gentleman. "It is quite a sight, hmm?"

Meanwhile, in what passed for a 'corner' of the field, a quarian in an old-style envirosuit sat with his back to a fencepost, watching the festivities and sucking down a tube of nutripaste.

Jil'Korah didn't live on Rannoch. He didn't really think of it as home, and while he'd made the trip for the Harvest Festival (the first in centuries, well worth seeing), to him there was a disconnect between the world he saw through his armored visor's HUD and the homeworld as he'd always imagined it. It wouldn't really be the homeworld to him until he could take off his mask, strip out of his suit, and really experience life the way it had been until the Morning War.

It wasn't all bad, though. With Ensemble's help he was slowly working towards that goal, and the geth had assured him that fresh samples of Rannoch air for comparison purposes would speed up the process ever so slightly. As such, to really achieve what he (and literally every other quarian) dreamed of, Jil had to make occasional trips to Rannoch, and the Harvest Festival had seemed as good a time as any. So it was that here he sat, seeing his people happy and at play. Disconnect or not, it was nice.

Leaning his head back, Jil popped in a nutripaste tube full of carefully filtered turian schnapps - once again courtesy of Anasari, who seemed to have a near-limitless supply of anything the slightest bit inebriating. The 'voice in his head', his suitrider Ensemble, was quiet - no doubt interfacing with the geth collective, comparing notes on the peculiarities of organics and the progress of their various missions. That was another reason Jil had come to the Festival: Ensemble was an individual, and existing solely in an envirosuit and whatever other systems it integrated with without ever being in proximity to other geth was probably frustrating for him, too. He'd never said as much, but then, without a frame of reference, he might not recognize it for what it was. The geth had certainly been getting a bit snappier over time, and on the off-chance it was something other than proximity to the Band causing it, Jil felt some obligation to help.

All things considered, Jil'Korah was in a pretty good mood, surrounded here by happy quarians, interested geth, and an eclectic mix of the dual cultures of the quarian people. The Harvest Festival was a throwback to a time before nutripaste, before the Flotilla, before the envirosuits, and here it was combining with each of those to create something new. Something unique across the galaxy. It was a sight to behold.

Reata didn't have to wait for long before a woman approached.

"Reata? Is... is that you? It's Cheal. I served with your parents, remember? I worked in the engine room."

It was an older woman, judging from her voice. Tired sounding, but there was a smile in the woman's voice.

"Why, I remember you when you were still in a bubble, rolling around the ship. And now you are all grown up."

Even behind the visor, Reata could tell the woman was looking her over and bursting with pride.

---

Raiga may have thought that she would be able to enjoy the festival with her family in peace she was wrong. No sooner had they entered the fair grounds when a little boy came streaking across the field, plowing right into Tualni.

"Ow!" The boy crawled out, untangled himself from the mess of arms and legs he had just become. "That hurt."

As the boy stood up, covered in dirt (a state he was no stranger to) he stopped and stared at Tualni, regarding the girl as if she had three heads. "Why is your suit so clean? You're weird."

It was about then that Raiga could here the calls of the boy's mother, and the boys escapades were nothing new judging by the exasperation of the woman.

"Beaator! Beaator, what did you do now... I'm sorry, I hope he didn't hurt your little girl. (You are getting a talking to when we get home, Beaator!)"

---

Everywhere quarians milled about, talking and joking, enjoying the festive air. But soon, a very different kind of noise broke through the air, the sounds of drums, as if a distant thunder storm was flowing in. And, in the center of the clearing crouched a young quarian woman, ready for the dance.

As the drums increased in beats, she stood slowly, arms outstretched to the sky. She stood still as the drums swelled and pulsed their beat. And then, all at once, the sound broke free.

It was a beautiful dance, telling the story of the turmoil and fury of the spring storms, but how they would always yield to the sun, bringing the harvest. The woman spun and whirled, jumped and shook like a tree before the storm. She was a whirlwind of cloth and color and movement.

"It's quite the sight, isn't it?"

Jil'Korah found himself no longer alone. The man who had asked the question was none other than Milai.

"Never thought I would see this day."

Geth make the worst third wheels. Especially when they live in the suit of your girlfriend.

But Lupin bore with it with a grin (not that the grin really mattered) while the two (three) of them wandered among the festivities. Sampling the nutrient paste, talking with friends, listening to the crowd and just marveling at the sky (Which never got old). It was a beautiful thing for a people who had lost so much. It would also be a good time to propose, a tiny part of him thought. That part was smothered quietly and dragged to a back alley of his mind.

Not yet, gonna plan it all out, it'll be perfect, just have to reserve the clean room, get the food, get a present for her...room, food, present. Room, food, present. A little mantra had been playing in the back of his mind for about half a year now, with a frequency and intensity that would generally put most serial killers off. Young love was a hell of a thing.

They were just in time for the dance to begin, and Lasa's one sided conversation came to a halt. One hand quietly snaked it's way through the crook of Lupin's arm, and they stood together, watching. And then Lasa jolted.

"Oh, crap. Thanks Mait. Uh, Lupin, I've gotta go. Do a thing. Um, I'll be back in about...half hour? Maybe a bit more? Bye!" There was a quick squeeze on his arm and she vanished before he could say anything. The quarian stared after her for a moment, then sighed and turned back to the dancer, drifting around to grab more nutrient paste, quietly picking up snatches of conversations around him.

Grid sector 334... systems nominal. Lights were on, dispensers were functioning, purifiers running smooth. Irrigation needed slight calibration, brought back a few seconds to sync up with schedule of the crew over at plot 1583. Two of the VIs were having communication troubles, issuing conflicting instructions to subsectors 334-78 and 334-32 for soil sampling. Minor concern at night, quickly fixed.

No fluctuations from the reactors, though, the actual reason for being here. Captain Mal'Hasye had said they'd been acting up, causing the festival lights to flicker periodically, and Station 112 was closest to get it sorted out immediately. There hadn't been any sign of the power feeds being erratic, though. And besides, there were plenty of techs and geth on hand, so one of them could have easily looked into the problem already, and probably did.

Strange.

The glowing omnitool waved over the console, flinging shadows across the dark maintenance shed as the screen widened. Diagnostics, diagrams, statistical analyses for the last three days, all flicked back and forth, opened, and closed at a dizzying rate. Gloved hands gestured rapidly, manipulating the interface with exceptional precision, even grace, silvery eyes drinking in details and reports almost as quickly as they appeared. In twenty seconds, it was undeniable: the was no issue, at present.

A swift chopping motion plunged the room into darkness. Moments later, the hatch to the shed parted, a figure emerging into the soft light at the edge of the festival: A quarian, whip-thin, slight of stature, probably fairly young... And certainly an odd character, at a glance.

The unremarkable grey faceplate was fixed downward as an omnitool flared to life, the fellow muttering softly to himself as he ambled about. His envirosuit had evidently once had a muted, dark red hue, though a plethora of scorch marks and scratches was starting to put this in question, even without the handful of grey, armoured plates scattered haphazardly about its frame. In contrast to most of the quarians at the festival, the only evidence of decorative cloths were a fraying hood and a few tattered segments about his chest, the once-colourful orange dull and dirty. The underlying suit was visible in many places, and even parts of his upper helmet could be seen, given the the hood's extensive deterioration. Nothing in this image was helped by the faint hunch in his posture, the frequent glances upward, or the twitchy nature of his movements.

Yet if he was self-conscious of his appearance, he gave no sign, meandering over to the edge of the clearing, one hand typing rapidly. Seconds later, a screen appeared above his arm, displaying another quarian, "KASSGrid-110, Mal'Hayse here."

"Sir, technician 112-SHEF reporting from Grid Sector 334." The young man's voice was quiet, almost toneless, eerily at odds with his ragged appearance, "I investigated the power fluctuation report like you asked, ran diagnostics for all 334 subsectors, adjusted calibration-"

"And you didn't find any problems with the generator." The captain sounded rather amused, prompting a twinge of uneasiness in the lad's gut.

"... No, sir. Systems were fine, no major issues. I'm guessing one of the techs here found the problem and fixed it."

"Or, there was no problem at all."

A pause, "Sir?"

"Tell me: before tonight, when was the last time you left 112?" The captain leaned back in his chair, eyeing the technician intently.

Atem stopped along the fenceline, head canting quizzically. He seemed oblivious to the celebration nearby, as well as the two men barely forty feet away, perplexed by the unexpected line of questioning.

In the past, Lear would have been startled to the point of screaming when the female quarian spoke to him.

Now... Lear just kept watching the larger group of quarians.

"Saying this is a "sight" is a fairly large understatement. Seeing this many quarians together in one place, with the geth around, back on the homeworld? That's not a sight, it's... Well, I don't know what it is, but it's a breathtaking one." Lear kept watching the crowd, still unable to believe the quarians had a homeworld again, even after all this time. He glanced at the quarian standing beside him for a second before returning his eyes to the crowd, wondering why she wasn't enjoying herself by getting lost in said crowd. He decided to keep that question to himself. Lear may have been anti-social, but he wasn't rude.

And then there was sound. Lots of sound. In the clearing, Lear's attention was caught by the sudden rush of movement and color, watching the woman tell a story through her dance. He couldn't tell what the story was, mind you, but maybe one day he'd figure it out.

"So what brings you over here instead of being involved in... well, this" To emphasize, Lear waved his three fingered hand at the festival in front of them.

"It's definitely something," came Jil'Korah's quiet reply to the stranger.

That was something Jil had been having trouble adapting to, as well, every time he was on Rannoch. Quarians everywhere, quarians he didn't know or recognize. By its very nature, interaction on the fleet was limited to small numbers on your ship or ships you worked closely with. Each vessel was like a community of its own, rarely more than a couple of hundred strong, and seeing so many of his people from so many different ships in one place was a touch disconcerting.

Not that Jil had problems interacting with other quarians, or other sentients in general - he got along well with everybody in the Band, for example, and met new people on a fairly regular basis. It was just the specific combination of factors at work here: quarians, wide open space, large numbers, and the strange disconnect between what he could see and his imagined version of the homeworld. Try as he might, Jil couldn't shake it, and it took him a moment to realize he was being rude. He pried his attention away from the sights and turned to face the newcomer.

"I'm Jil'Korah vas Dasegar."

Even as he spoke, Jil noticed that a number of other quarians were keeping themselves somewhat apart from the main group, and it occurred to him that he wouldn't be the only one having trouble adapting to things. In particular, one in a patchwork suit seemed to be wandering aimlessly but in vaguely their direction, and before he knew what he was doing Jil had raised one arm, beckoning the other quarian over to join himself and the stranger.

Raeta recognized the voice almost immediately.

"Chael!" She exclaimed happily as she hugged the older quarian. Chael had more or less been a part of the family for Raeta during her childhood, looking after her whenever her parents were busy tending to the Rakol's engine, which was quite often.

"Been far too long, how have you been?"

Tualni was a tough little girl and wasn't harmed by the boy's impact. If anything, she was more upset and hurt by the boy's comment. Seeing as she had only just gotten out of her bubble very recently and was currently going through a phase of self-conscious behavior that many quarian children went through as they got used to their suits. But she wasn't going to cry. Because only bubble babies cried. But she would go over to her mother and hide her eyes just in case...

Ragia on the other hand, was just relieved to see that Tualni was unharmed. "She's okay. A little dirty, maybe. But no seals were broken." she said. Kneeling down and gently dusting the child's suit and hood off and doing her best to sooth the child. "And please don't punish him. It's also partly our own fault for not paying attention to where we were going."

"I'm dirty now, mama. Does that mean we have to go home now?" Tualni said with noticeable sadness as her mother cleaned her up, her eyes showing that disappointment that only children can make.

"Of course not, sweetie." Ragia said. "In fact... I can hear them starting the dance now. If we hurry, we can go and watch." Lifting the child to her feet, she looked over to Beaator and his mother and nodded.

The response to her lighthearted question made Leeta smile sheepishly and hang her head a little. He was right - she was vastly understating the magnitude of what was happening in front of them, but only because she lacked the words to properly express how she felt at seeing such a celebration. She nodded along as he spoke, lifting her head again to return her attention to one particular dancer that was working the crowds of quarians into a festive frenzy. Leeta crossed her arms in front of her, fighting the growing urge to tap her foot to the music that filled the air. Even just three years ago Leeta would have given anything to be the dancer telling that story, but duty had always come before self-expression in her family. At any rate, it had been a long time since Leeta had danced in the privacy of her cramped quarters on her birth vessel, and she wasn't about to start making a spectacle of herself now.

A passing geth caught her eye and she tensed instinctively. She still wasn't used to seeing them around, and she wasn't sure she ever would be. She had been raised on the stories of the brutal destruction the geth had brought down on her people, and even with everything that had come to pass they still made her nervous. She couldn't deny that they had been instrumental in her people's return to their home planet, and they had been particularly useful on the Citadel as of late, yet that didn't do much to ease her mind. She exhaled a slow breath, studying the automaton as it went about its business before Lear's question recalled her attention. "Oh--well..." She paused, frowning behind her visor as she tried to explain herself. "It feels strange," she finally admitted. "I am afraid I cannot abandon myself to festivities easily...and I haven't been around so many of our people since the war." She shifted her weight to one foot as she spoke, keeping her eyes forward rather than looking at the quarian beside her. "It feels safer and more familiar to watch."

Finally she looked at him, tilting her head. "But I could ask you the same question...why aren't you in the middle of the crowd?"

Lear smiled faintly at the girl's question. He'd grown up on the Mercant, a fairly small vessel filled with engineers and marines. Actually, a better term would have been "crammed with far too many Quarians for his liking". One doctor on the Citadel had told Lear he had "Claustrophobia", while another had simply said he had personal space issues. Both were wrong. Lear simply didn't like being around large groups of people. Large groups of people meant there was the chance he had to socialize with others...

Keelah, I really am quite anti-social, aren't I?

"Just don't like large crowds, I guess. On the ship I grew up on, it was easy to get lost in the crowd if you weren't careful. Guess I just never really got over that..." Lear frowned slightly as he remembered his childhood. It hadn't been easy, growing up on a ship with large crowds, but it was easier when he'd gone with his mother to learn about "the wonders of engineering". He missed her, he really did, but there wasn't a lot that Var'Kaus or Lear'Kaus could have done to keep her any longer than they had. It had simply been her time to be with the Ancestors.

"More familiar to watch... I guess when you've been seperated from most of the galaxy for a couple hundred years, it kind of becomes second nature, huh? I live on the Citadel, but it's amazing how many times I wake up and remember that we actually have a homeworld now..." Lear nearly choked on his words. Rannoch was the Quarian's home... But for whatever reason, he (and probably several others) didn't view it as "home". Maybe in time, he would.

Maybe.

The young quarian’s eyes flicked up as Jil waved, but only for an instant. It was as if a note had been made of the pair of quarians in his periphery, which had been set aside to be consulted later. Or, more likely, not at all.

"... Sir?"

"Answer the question."

What? "Uh... Earlier this week. Three days ago."

"Not according to Miss Jalno. She says you haven't left your station in three days, and were probably going to make it four by tonight. Also, that you haven't left the building in over a week, despite her repeatedly asking you to go home and get some proper rest."

Blink. Blink-blink. "I... She said I wasn't technically doing anything wrong, if it was my own choice."

"And she would be right, technically. But she's not happy about it, and neither am I."

Atem stiffened, "But Sector 318 has been acting up, and one of the teams needed remote assistance with the array installation over at Station 109-"

"Yes, and you apparently spent the night calibrating said array after they all went home, which Mister Hayu insists he did not ask of you. His team was rather surprised when their next workday was several hours shorter. While appreciated, it wasn't something you needed to do, just like two-thirds of the things I can see on your worklist for the last week. Certainly not at the risk your health."

... What was he supposed to say to that? Was he being reassigned? They wouldn't send him away from Kassali, no no, but... "...I... I-I'm sorry if you've gotten complaints, sir."

"Look, Xyndos," the lad twitched at that, "There haven’t been any complaints, but I'm supposed to look after those under my command, and I don't want you burning yourself out or - Ancestors forbid - resorting to stims. It's completely unnecessary in this case, anyway. You need to step back and slow down once in awhile, get some rest, clear your head."

"...I like to work, sir. I like to keep busy."

"But there's a difference between 'keeping busy' and 'collating input data for seventy-three plots while managing power flow for four sectors.' That work ethic was a big help when we were trying to get things going, but we've been doing fine for months now, and you can afford to ease up."

The older quarian steepled his fingers, "To that end, I felt you needed to stop and take the time to actually appreciate the fruits of our labours for yourself. The only way to get you out of 112 was to give you an assignment, and now that that's taken care of, you have the next few days off. Why don't you start by enjoying the festival, talking to the farmers, hmmm? Try some of the fala and cana? It would be good for you, you know?”

Unseen, Atem’s other hand clenched, “I... I’d rather just go home then, sir. I have a couple projects that I’m falling behind on, and-”

“Somehow I doubt that. I know what you would rather do, Xyndos, but that’s no better than heading back to the station. Enjoy the festival, that’s an order. Understood?”

A pause, and the lad’s shoulders sagged in defeat, “... Yes sir.”

“Good. Mal’Hayse out.” With that, the screen disappeared, leaving the young quarian silently staring at a fence post. After a few moments, the omnitool faded as he glanced over one shoulder at the festivities, his movements almost furtive, as if wary that someone might take exception to his presence. He fought the desperate urge to wring his hands, the reassuring pressure and distraction of work beginning to give away to anxiety, tension already hunching his shoulders.

Breathe, Doctor Alna had said, time after time. Breathe. Relax his neck, take deeper breaths, centre himself. It wasn't that big a festival, and most of the people would be Kassalians; he might even know some of them by name, even if he couldn't pick them out of a crowd on appearance alone. He could... try to enjoy himself.

Oh. He suddenly recalled the other two men on the festival's edge, a glance confirming they were still there. If he was going to talk to anyone, that would a better place to start than wading into the crowd.

The skinny young fellow hesitantly made his way over to Jil and Milai, fingertips tapping uneasily, subtly tensed like a wary merthoi. Halting within a few strides, silvery eyes zipped about, taking in details on the pair. The standing one was clearly a marine, while his seated companion was clad in an older, armoured suit model, cutting a rather curious figure for this gathering. He dipped something between a nod and a short, nervous bow, fingers twitching faintly.

"Uh... Hi there?" The lad's voice was surprisingly clear and steady, at odds with his ragged suit, the plates and sections exposed and dirty, the clothes covering them almost in tatters. "... Um... E-enjoying the festival?" His feet shuffled slightly, uncertainly.

"I feel old.  Outdated."

There was a pause.  Chael let out a sigh, and when she continued, her voice sounded like she was worlds away.

"I'm glad to have Rannoch back, that's for sure.  It's more than I could ever hope.  But... Where does an old, weathered engineer like me fit in this future?  A little old grandma, sitting on the porch and watching as the kids and the geth tend the fields?  Put a broken down husk of an engine in my hands and I can make it sing, but what good am I here?"

A sudden thunderous snap of the drums seem to bring Chael back to herself.  The dancer jumped into the air, twirling and twisting.  A small number of the audience took the cue and joined in.  

 Chael shook her had and began to laugh. 

"Oh, listen to me.  An old, wrinkled, grease-head like me prattling on about yesteryear.  How are you doing, Raeta?  I heard you are living on the Citadel.  Is it as beautiful as the stories I've heard?"

---

 

"I'm glad she is alright."  The woman said, squatting down next to Tualni's and whispering loud enough for the whole fair ground to hear her. "Next time he gives you trouble, just call him Little BeeBee.  That should teach him."

"Mom! Hmph!".  It was obvious that Beeator thought himself too old to be going by that nickname now.  But after a moment, his fury seemed to be spent.  

"Sorry I bumped into you," Beeator said, head drooped in apology.  Then, and idea struck him. Tonight, he wasn't going to be the only kid around. "Hey, you want to go watch the dance?"  

---

Milai smiled as Jil said his name. 

"I know.  Jil'Korah vas Dasegar.  I've been looking for experienced technicians for a little project I have coming up, and your name has come up more than once.  When I saw your name on the arrivals tonight, I figured I would try and find you".  Milai explained. 

"Apparently you have experience beyond just ship engines, and that's something we will need.  If you're interested I-"

It was then the new man approached, looking dirty and worn, like he had just been in a fight with a desert rider.  But it didn't matter to Milai.  He nodded politely before answering the man's questions.

"Yes.  It's something I never thought I would see, us celebrating on Rannoch.  Speaking of which, I'll be right back."

With that, Milai excused himself, leaving the two men alone. 

Leeta couldn't help but chuckle. "A quarian that dislikes large crowds? And I thought I was the only one." She stood up on her toes, bringing to attention her shorter than average height. "But am somewhat at a disadvantage in that respect, hmm?" She relaxed onto her heels again and folded her arms in front of her chest. Meeting another quarian who was used to feeling lost gave her a little bit of validation. She had always felt that way, but none of her family had ever been able to grasp her issue with the struggle of being noticed. Her parents and grandparents had always seemed to content to be part of the many.

She was silent for a few moments, eyeing the gorgeous and detailed robes worn by a dancing quarian. "It doesn't really feel like--home...does it? I mean it does but...in a way that feels like a dream." She paused, exhaling a soft sigh. "I have never set foot on...a planet before. It feels...strange." She shook her head, keeping her eyes locked on the dancer. She hesitated, trying to think up any number of reasons why she shouldn't introduce herself formally. She hated not having a ship to attach her name to - it felt wrong and shameful, but if he lived on the Citadel too, maybe he would understand. She hesitated awkwardly, finally adding, "I am Leeta'Varo vas...Tayseri." Her cringe was almost visible. "I live on the Citadel too...and it is very much second-nature to watch."

Ragia was wary of letting Tualni even a little bit out of her sight. Ships were dangerous enough for a wandering child. But a planet was an entirely different sort of animal. It would be very easy for a child (especially ones as mischievous and Beator and Tualni) to wander out of the fairgrounds and never be seen again.

"I'm sorry Beeator" she said as sympathetically as possible. "But I think it would be best if Tualni stays with me tonight. But..." She turned and looked at the child's mother "You and your mother are to accompany us if she wants."

Raeta just smiled as she put an hand on the older quarian's shoulder. "Now don't say that, there's going to be another generation of quarians who will grow up knowing a homeworld in the next few years, they'll need people like you to help teach them, remind them of how we got here in the first place." She tried to assure Chael. "Besides, the fact you're here is something to be proud in of itself, to you and the Ancestors."

As she spoke, Raeta took another look at the festivities, recognizing a few crew of the Rakol chatting underneath a fala grove. "As for the Citadel, well, given how everyone talks about the crime situation, you'd swear it was another Omega. In reality, well, I can't really describe it, but you can almost feel a sort of energy that radiates from there. Something with so many people from different races gathered in one place, expressing themselves, their art, their music, its quite fascinating to say the least. Although..." She paused "There are times where I feel I'm really out of place on that station."