"Piss off, I'm ginger," she laughs, half-turning as she walks, the better to flip him off about it, "Look at me, asshole."

Shepard's jaunty little sunhat has spared her face the worst of it, but she holds up her arms for inspection— the freckles are coming in thick, blossoming under the hazy layer of peeling sunburn, "I'm not gonna tan, I'm just gonna burn."

She doesn't sound particularly concerned. But then, Biotic that she is, skin cancer is the kind of death she never learned to fear. If radiation was going to kill her, it could take her brain from within, after all; no point in getting too fussed about a spotty complexion.

"Just because the sun loves you."