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wafflesrock16 · 4 years ago

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The Bard of Shanxi

I’m battling writers block and started wondering about turian prisoners on Shanxi hearing humans sing. Human voices are unique among the races, you’d imagine. How would an alien ballad sound to a non-human?

Inspired by Orville Peck’s “Kids”

Time had no meaning in this place. Dingy, concrete walls cast the same, gloomy shadows no matter the hour, as the soft buzz of florescent lights chorused overhead.

Bright, steel bars mocked the otherwise moldering, atrophied interior of the building where the turian POWs were kept. The humans had once used this place as a prison for their own kind. It had survived the aerial bombardment and in a sardonic case of irony, now housed those that would have been conquerors.

Flavian limply jangled a shackled wrist for no reason other than to hear the metallic clink the movement caused. He was the only prisoner in this spirits-forsaken cell. No one else in his unit had survived the aquatic ambush. The humans had risen from the reeds and tepid marsh water at sunset, slick with russet colored mud and stinking of decay. How long had they waited in that festering, putrid swamp? They’d been underwater, breathing through hollow reeds for hours, Flavian had later deduced.

His patrol had been taken completely off-guard. The human’s primitive, lead fueled guns could survive the submersion and had worked to deadly effect. Just goes to show a weapon doesn’t have to be advanced to kill, Flavian thought bitterly.

Was it a mercy or a curse that he’d been in the thick brush relieving himself when they attacked? Either way, he’d turned to come face to face with nine guns pointed at his head. And now, he was here. Nothing more to be said of his inglorious capture.

At some point in the day, a human--a tired looking male with brilliant blue eyes--would appear from around the corner of his cell and push a tube of dextro-paste over. Flavian had considered refusing to eat, but death by self-inflicted starvation was hardly worthy martyrdom. He was nobody, anyway; just a solider. A farmer-boy from Taetrus. No prestigious title or family name. A commoner tossed into this political and military shit-show without concern.

A new, sudden sound caught his attention. It sounded like the thrumming of chords that reverberated in the hollowness of the prison. There was a distinct melody to the sound and Flavian realized with surprise that the tired guard must be playing some type of human instrument. He listened with rapt intrigue, the shackles on his wrists forgotten as the steel bars and dismissal, cracked concrete walls faded away.

A deep, smooth voice began to sing. He couldn’t understand the words; translation of the human language wasn’t perfect. Yet. But somehow, the tone filled him with a sense of ineffable sadness. Something was lost, somewhere. On an alien world with an alien sun. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but as the guard’s voice seeped into the still air, he was filled with a deep-rooted longing.

He missed his younger brother and the simpler times of childhood. Dust caked bare feet and blunted talons running through tilled fields. Bird calls in the dusky twilight and the smell of fresh cut cevern grass. Knowing his mother had cooked xemna steak for dinner and the jubilant, enthusiastic race to the table.

The guards voice hit a crescendo. He has a voice like warm whiskey, Flavian thought absently. He’d never heard a human sing. It was comparable to an asari in intonation, but closer to a batarian with the deeper ululation that accompanied some verses. A pleasant voice, he decided.

The song drifted to stop, the guard’s voice an echo clinging to the bars as the chords died away into nothingness.

“Can you sing another one?” Flavian asked into the renewed silence. His voice croaked like a dehydrated amphibian from disuse.

Stupid, he chastised himself when there was no response. He can’t understand you anyway, and you’re a prisoner, not a concert attendee--

The instrument sprang to life in a triumphant strumming of notes that seemed... happy? Optimistic, at least. The guard sang song after song in that melodious, alien voice. Some were solemn, others crisp with excitement and promise. They took Flavian far away from the grey infused prison on a hostile world. Back to home and family and loved ones.

When at last the music stopped for good, the guard peeked around the corner at him. Flavian wasn’t an expert on expressions--let alone human expressions--but the small smile on the guard’s face seemed friendly. Friendlier than anything else he’d experienced here.

Unable to applaud, he rumbled in thanks and bowed his head. When he looked up, the guard had vanished.

He never heard the guard sing again. The next day, a different group of humans, accompanied by three asari in commando leathers released him from his cell and he was accompanied to an asari ship where other freed turian POWs were being treated by a doctor.

The Relay 314 incident was over. Yet, on still nights, back home on Taetrus, Flavian drifted back to Shanxi. Harmony hugging the prison air in a show of compassion he wasn’t sure he’d deserved.

I bet that guard is a famous singer, Flavian thought as the fuzzy film of sleep crept over him. I’d pay to hear him sing. In a happier setting. Maybe one day...

#waffles writes #my OCs #my ramblings #the guard did become a famous singer I decided #Flavian does see him play #mass effect #turians #Shanxi #interspecies musings

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