Movie Night VII: The Spinoff

[unrecovered]

Who| Wash and anyone who cares to join
What| Movie Night!
Where| The usual lounge
When| After Resistance Is Futile/An Eye For an Eye and the subsequent food fight
Warnings/Notes| None?

There's something to be said for a return to normality, though they're not really there yet. The food fight was a good way to decompress; now it's time to trot out the usual tradition of snacks and old cinema.

Chairs are arranged, blankets laid out, and the usual line of tables is piled high with standard movie snacks and drinks, though they're far less carefully arranged than usual. There are blank tables next to the spread, for those who wish to bring snacks to share. The usual poster is outside the door, with a summary of the movie, its MPAA rating, and the customary Movie night is neutral territory note. New this time is a handwritten note next to the summary that reads It's parody. It's supposed to be weird.

The movie tonight is Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Comments

[calibrates_big_guns]

"Now that makes sense to me."

He blinks at the offered foot. Nail painting is something he's only really dimly aware of - it's not really a thing among turians, and the human women he's spent a decent amount of time with aren't the type to bother with it. He leans over and looks. He's not really sure if he's looking for anything other than just 'aesthetically pleasing'.

It looks nice?

"I think that purple is definitely your color."

[araignee_du_soir]

Another toe wiggle and Amélie lowered her foot. "Merci. So few colors go well with my complexion. It was an... interesting time for me, experimenting with different cosmetics to find a palate that worked for me. I had to special order them or visit a specialty shop."

She began to work on her other foot. "Shall I paint your claws for you?"

[calibrates_big_guns]

"None of the usual blacks and reds did it for you?" He asks, arching an eyebrow.

It's an interesting tidbit, though. Apparently there aren't a lot of other people like her back home. It goes certain distance towards explaining the cold distance she seems to regard the world with.

As for painting his claws ... well, there's an idea that's never occurred to him.

"Maybe another time. Somehow, I don't think I'd pull it off as well as you do."

[araignee_du_soir]

"Are you certain? I think it would look quite interesting." But Amélie wasn't going to insist. "After all, you already have your facial adornment. Painted claws would not look out of place."

A pause as she tilted her head back to look at him. "And I do keep reds around for the right occassion - deep reds - but I was never into black."

[calibrates_big_guns]

"Well these are more cultural than cosmetic," He says, reaching up to brush a finger along the markings on his cheek. As his hand pulls away he seems to consider it for a moment before he shrugs. "Ah, what the hell. Why not?"

He certainly doesn't have anything else to do.

Though his head does cock slightly to the side at the right occasion. He's curious, but he's not going to pry.

[araignee_du_soir]

"Once I finish this foot." Her gaze turned back down as she began a second coat. "In the meantime, tell me more about your markings. I am curious."

[calibrates_big_guns]

"Not all that much to tell unless you want a lesson in turian history," He replies as he leans back into his seat. "The short version is that they signify which colony your family is from."

[araignee_du_soir]

Amélie didn't care about turian history, so she didn't ask for much more detail. "Close knit communities or are you all just that spread out?"

[calibrates_big_guns]

"A little bit of both. Turians expanded quickly and a lot of the colonies decided they'd be better off on their own. Eventually the central government stepped in, but there was a lot of xenophobia and in-fighting before that."

[araignee_du_soir]

"Show me a species that has never had a phase of xenophobia and I will perform the 32 fouettés sequence from Swan Lake even though I have not touched it in eight years."

Chuckling, she ran a nail along the edge of her one toe to clean the excess polish up and wiped it on a cleaner pad. Closing the bottle, Amélie reached back and beckoned for him to drape his arm forward over her shoulder.

"Your hand."

[calibrates_big_guns]

"Everyone's got a few skeletons in their closet," He agrees.

He gives her his hand, but a brief look of confusion crosses his face.

"Swan Lake. That's familiar for some reason."

[araignee_du_soir]

Taking his hand and moving it so his forearm rest upon her shoulder and the hand itself dangled in front of her. There was plenty of room between the ends of his claws and her chest given the angle, so she could work without issue, but who knew what someone glancing their way might think. She took the nail polish remover wipe she had been using and cleaned his claws so she had as blank a canvass as she could with them.

"Swan Lake is a ballet from Earth, composed by Tchaikovsky in 1875, and is one the best pieces of art ever created. Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker is perhaps his most well-known ballet, but it is highly inferior in comparison," she explained. "Swan Lake tells the tale of Odette - a princess that was turned into a swan by an evil sorcerer's curse. The story was originally an old Russian folk tale."

[calibrates_big_guns]

"That would explain it."

Not that he knew all those details, of course. He was only dimly aware of it, not exactly being a patron of the arts, but he'd heard something about one production or another on the Citadel.

"You were a dancer at some point, then?" He asks, intrigued. He wouldn't have pegged her for someone with the interest. Then again, Widowmaker does suggest a certain flare for the dramatic.

[araignee_du_soir]

"Correct. I danced in Paris for many years, reaching premiere danseuse at the end of my career. Had I continued, at this point in my existence, I might have been given consideration for a promotion to étoile." There was an unusual wistful tone in her voice - barely but still there.

She set the cleaning wipe aside and picked up the nail polish. She gave it a good shake before opening it. One hand held a claw out, while the other started to paint it violet, the brush strokes steady and precise. Patient.

"I had been cast as both Odette and Odile for Swan Lake in my last season with the dance company. It is common for both parts to be played by the same ballerina given Odile is impersonating Odette and there is a quickchange in the one scene."

[calibrates_big_guns]

I'm impressed.

[That's genuine, by the way. He may have understood less than half of what she'd just said, but he caught enough to understand that it's a hell of a feat.

However, her words weren't the only thing talking. The soft, almost nostalgic edge to her voice stuck out from her usual cool, distant confidence like a krogan on Palaven, no matter how faint it was. There was something lingering there. Maybe not pain, but ... she missed it to some degree.

Garrus chewed on that for a moment - debating the circumstances that could lead someone to change careers from dancer to sniper.]

Do I ask why things changed, or is that something you'd rather not talk about?

[araignee_du_soir]

Amélie's hand briefly paused before it continued to paint his claws. She thought Garrus might have the same respect that Marjara did when it came to not seeking details on certain things. Things like...

"My husband died," she replied, moving onto another claw. "And then I was recruited by Talon." None of that was a lie, even though she presented them as entirely different events and not intimately tied together.

[calibrates_big_guns]

"Oh," He blinks. He'd been expecting something big, but maybe not something so personal. "I'm sorry."

It's maybe a little awkward - interpersonal stuff has never been his strongest suit - but it's genuine. Suffice to say he's not seeking any more details unless she's offering them.

[araignee_du_soir]

Such politeness, not asking how he died and the like. There were some things she couldn't talk about, and some she didn't want to talk about with those that didn't already know. Luckily, Gerard fell under both.

"It was a long time ago. Do not worry about it."

[calibrates_big_guns]

"All the same." She can't see it but his gaze is cast down, guilty. "Probably not something you'd like to be thinking about on your night off."

[araignee_du_soir]

If only Garrus knew how not a day went by that she didn't think about Gérard. It helped that much of her memory of that fatal night was taken from her thanks to Talon.

It is fine, Garrus," she replied, moving onto the last claw on the hand. "Eventually it comes up with anyone that sees me as a person instead of a weapon or a psychopath. Now there." She held his finished hand up. "What do you think?"

[calibrates_big_guns]

He had a feeling. He couldn't say with any degree of certainty, not within their limited interactions, especially not with the tight lid she had on her emotions, but he'd had a feeling. Losing someone you care about, no matter how much self-control you have, isn't something you can just shrug off. You can bottle those emotions up, push them out of your mind, or find some outlet, but they didn't just go away.

There's a clear urge to comment on that reply. He draws in a breath to start speaking but decides against it. Sure, he has questions, but he'd rather not go down this rabbit hole. They're supposed to be having fun.

So, instead, his attention turned to his newly painted claws. He lifted his hand, turned it over to examine it in the light, wiggled his fingers experimentally.

"Not bad," He says. "I still think you wore it better, but ..." He nods his approval, not really sure of what else to say.

[araignee_du_soir]

She was waiting for it - the comment, the quip, the apology or further condolences. But it didn't come, which she was silently thankful for, even with as clumsy as her redirection had been. The less time spent on her late husband, the less likely she was to be put in a position where she had to make a choice as to whether to lie or not. She was a monster; sometimes it was too tiring to keep up the facade of humanity. It was a poor facade anyway.

"Blue would be a better color on you than purple." But it was all she had with her right then. "It would match your facial markings. Give me the other hand and let that one dry. I'll put a second coat on it once I have the first one done on the other."

[calibrates_big_guns]

He's not sure if he believes she's a monster. Cold and callous and dangerous, sure, given the conversations they'd had, but as of yet he hadn't seen anything that had tipped the needle too far in one direction or the other.

Whatever the case, they both wanted to jump tracks for different reasons.

"Blue would certainly fit into the color scheme a little more neatly." Considering just about everything he wore seemed to be predominantly blue, down to the casual wear he had on now. He offers her his other hand.

[araignee_du_soir]

Taking the hand, she began to work on its claws. "Is there a significance to the color, or is it just your favorite?"

She couldn't recall if purple had been her favored color before Talon altered her, but it was now. It worked very well with her complexion and even as Widowmaker, she was quite vain.

[calibrates_big_guns]

"A little bit of both." He leaned forward to give her a little more room to work.

"Blue was standard issue when I worked for C--" He catches himself, realizing that doesn't have the context to know what C-Sec is, so he amends his statement: "When I was a cop."

"The restrictions of the job wore on me, but I liked the look and just decided to keep it when I left."