"I'm startin' to think you only came back to Normandy for the Thannix, not me," She rolls her eyes, unseen, and braces a hand on the edge of the airlock to force her way out.
The wind is the worst of it, a howling white beast of a storm, shot through with thunder, but once they're actually out in it, it isn't as bad. The airlock-door had funneled the snow like a nozzle, and out on the ground it was nothing more than a balance-hazard. Her suit, ostensibly rated for the likes of Noveria's killing snows and worse, struggles against the freezing temperatures.
"Keep going!" She hopes the radio is working, despite all this, and that he can hear her. Shepard ignores the tinny complaints of the suit-VI and pushes on, one step after the other after the— "Damn!"
The edge of the snowstorm is as abrupt an end to the wind-pressure as could be imagined. The Normandy has always been situated at the edges of other domains, the corners and corridors of the Horizon, but the cut-off between landing-pad and the next place over has never been so stark. Looking back, Shepard sees the snowstorm almost as if it were trapped inside a forcefield, with Normandy's aquiline shape like a shadow, barely seen.
"...Well, that's new," There's water at their feet, ankle-deep, and the ground slopes downward. The domain ahead of them is subject to a ugly flood, brown and brackish in a way that seems as if it must smell truly awful— if either of them were inclined to take off their helmets, "Look at the Singularity."
The Singularity, always visible no matter where you stood on the Horizon, is wreathed in stormclouds and angry lightning.
no subject
The wind is the worst of it, a howling white beast of a storm, shot through with thunder, but once they're actually out in it, it isn't as bad. The airlock-door had funneled the snow like a nozzle, and out on the ground it was nothing more than a balance-hazard. Her suit, ostensibly rated for the likes of Noveria's killing snows and worse, struggles against the freezing temperatures.
"Keep going!" She hopes the radio is working, despite all this, and that he can hear her. Shepard ignores the tinny complaints of the suit-VI and pushes on, one step after the other after the— "Damn!"
The edge of the snowstorm is as abrupt an end to the wind-pressure as could be imagined. The Normandy has always been situated at the edges of other domains, the corners and corridors of the Horizon, but the cut-off between landing-pad and the next place over has never been so stark. Looking back, Shepard sees the snowstorm almost as if it were trapped inside a forcefield, with Normandy's aquiline shape like a shadow, barely seen.
"...Well, that's new," There's water at their feet, ankle-deep, and the ground slopes downward. The domain ahead of them is subject to a ugly flood, brown and brackish in a way that seems as if it must smell truly awful— if either of them were inclined to take off their helmets, "Look at the Singularity."
The Singularity, always visible no matter where you stood on the Horizon, is wreathed in stormclouds and angry lightning.