#I'm wrangling a ton of tags today so you may seen more of these posts

[omniblades-and-stars]

WIP Whenever I Don't Care You're Not My Real Dad

I got tagged by @korblez for this. So I'm gonna post something that is 100% absolutely his fault. I haven't written a ton this week, so this is what I have to offer today.

I'm brain dead for real after the week I've had work. So you, if you're reading this, I have tagged you. Yes, you! Go forth, share with us.

Without further ado snippet of the thing I'm working on (sorry, not sorry):

BLOOD & GRENADINE

The pair walked casually to a small table set in a corner. It gave them a good view of the entire ballroom. And the view of the ballroom?

It was like someone watched far too many ancient vids about old Hollywood parties, with the old art deco style with the dark walls and solid line accents to break it up, but instead of stylish gold, they embedded weak cyan lights into the wall. The effect was like looking at old computer chips except it gave you a migraine if you stared at it too long. The lights cast strange shadows.

Across the room on the far side were rows of floor to ceiling windows and glass doors that led to high balconies with large ferns planted in cement planters cast with thick, angled lines to further ape a time long since passed. Those Zaeed couldn't find any faults with. Maybe a drink or two in, he might have been willing to even say that he liked them. Three or four and maybe he'd put on a trilby and start talking like an old school mobster for shits and giggles, schee?

“Too many goddamn windows,” Zaeed muttered.

“We'd be sitting ducks if there was a sniper out there,” said Garrus at the same time.

Negative one.

They sat across from each other and Massani wasted no time in perusing the drink menu. Fancy wines, over-priced liquor, cocktails that cost enough to feed a family for one night. Ah well, when in Rome and all that. He was going to get a drink. Just add it to the tab for Red to reimburse him for.

“Are you really going to drink tonight?”

Zaeed raised his eyes only scooch off of the menu to respond with a wink, “You want people to believe this is a dinner date, or what?” Usually, he just drank his liquor straight, whiskey, bourbon, vodka - shit, it didn't really matter. That burn as it went down was what reminded him that he was still breathing. Taste didn't really matter when you were often scraping the bottom of the galaxy's barrel running hither and yon chasing down assholes for credits. Didn't mean he was a man without taste, he just knew how to turn it off, measure his expectations. “'Sides, one drink isn't gonna do anything to me except cost me enough credits to buy a new scope for the old Mattock.”

Garrus' mandibles fluttered briefly as he considered the wisdom of Zaeed's defense. Or more accurately, considering just how often he'd seen him with a tumbler of some brown liquor or another during the years that they'd been working together now. Given the truly unbelievable number of bottles left over as evidence of Shepard and Zaeed's contest (the number of which could have killed a krogan), it was within the scope of belief that drinking one cocktail wouldn't make a dent in the man's sobriety.

Having decided that Zaeed was correct, Garrus picked up the menu to peruse it himself. The offerings of dextro safe wines and liquors were unsurprisingly small, and included dual-chirality options that were just right out. Those were never good. He'd be better off chugging a bottle of rubbing alcohol based on taste alone.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I'll be your server tonight,” a chipper young woman with curly hair interrupted their ponderance of booze and its variations with a broad smile on rosy cheeks. “Dinner will be served in about fifteen minutes. May I get you something to drink while you wait?” She was a pretty girl, with masses of curly brown hair that were barely wrangled into a braid, and doeish, brown eyes that looked far too happy to be living on Earth post-near-apocalypse.

Zaeed heard a rumble in Garrus' chest, that same one that always came before he made a bad joke. And coupled with the daring glint in those baby blues of his, Zaeed knew that it was on. “Hm, I don't know. Darling, what looks good to you?”

Even.

“For you, love, the Brandy Alexandrus. You have quite a sweet tooth,” Zaeed practically purred without looking up from his menu. Blue was going to have to try a lot harder than that if he wanted the merc to crack. He sat through Shepard's god awful speech before hitting the Collector base without so much as cracking a grin. Besides, he'd definitely been to dinner with a helluva lot worse than the likes of the smug turian across from him. At least he was reasonably certain that Vakarian wouldn't try to kill him by the end of the night.

[teenwolfwrangling]

Things I didn’t know I needed: