He sounds so genuinely puzzled, that she has to turn and squint back at him for a minute, to see if he's joking or not. She's been trying not to look at him, really— he's so obviously not struggling with the sun, and the heat, and the terrain... This place could mitigate the least convenient aspects of Turian biology, but evidently did nothing about the radiation resistance. Jealousy was unbecoming.
Still, Garrus is so honestly confused that she takes one look and laughs.
"You know, I forget sometimes," A pause for breath, and to put her hands on her hips. Shepard hefts the weight of her pack into a more acceptable position, to cover for the pause, "...That we're coming at this so different."
He was, by her standards, a rich boy and the son of the same, born into a family with property and propriety both. High-placed enough that daddy could get him a job he clearly wasn't fit for, and a family name that could smooth over any number of otherwise firing offenses.
"Turians got mandatory service, right? Humans are all volunteers. And people like me... I didn't care whether I lived or died, I just wanted to get off Tenth Street," She can't help the little wave of a hand, dismissive, teasing, as if to say well what do you expect? Shepard finds the whole thing funny, "Hell Garrus, as far as the official record is concerned, I went AWOL for two years, then turned up doing work for a terrorist organization, picking up career criminals and vigilante killers for a suicide mission. Anderson's good word is the only reason I didn't spent the time between Aratoht and coming here in some kind of Batarian gulag."
She shrugs, still grinning, and hefts the pack again, turning back to the dusty road. A pebble skitters away as she does, kicked by an unwary step. She kicks it again, further down the road, and it raises dust as it rolls. There's probably a metaphor in that.
"I'm really the last person who should be complaining about people being poor and stupid, and having no plan."
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Still, Garrus is so honestly confused that she takes one look and laughs.
"You know, I forget sometimes," A pause for breath, and to put her hands on her hips. Shepard hefts the weight of her pack into a more acceptable position, to cover for the pause, "...That we're coming at this so different."
He was, by her standards, a rich boy and the son of the same, born into a family with property and propriety both. High-placed enough that daddy could get him a job he clearly wasn't fit for, and a family name that could smooth over any number of otherwise firing offenses.
"Turians got mandatory service, right? Humans are all volunteers. And people like me... I didn't care whether I lived or died, I just wanted to get off Tenth Street," She can't help the little wave of a hand, dismissive, teasing, as if to say well what do you expect? Shepard finds the whole thing funny, "Hell Garrus, as far as the official record is concerned, I went AWOL for two years, then turned up doing work for a terrorist organization, picking up career criminals and vigilante killers for a suicide mission. Anderson's good word is the only reason I didn't spent the time between Aratoht and coming here in some kind of Batarian gulag."
She shrugs, still grinning, and hefts the pack again, turning back to the dusty road. A pebble skitters away as she does, kicked by an unwary step. She kicks it again, further down the road, and it raises dust as it rolls. There's probably a metaphor in that.
"I'm really the last person who should be complaining about people being poor and stupid, and having no plan."