abraxaslogs | I shouldn't be so curious

I shouldn't be so curious

Who: Garrus and Crane
When: October
Where: Libertas
What: Two truths and a lie
Warnings: None

[Libertas is but one portal away. Months ago, Crane had left Cadens behind, welcoming the solitude, the privacy and honestly the secrecy. His work had caught the eye of a wealthy benefactor, possessed of more money than sense, who had bankrolled a residence from which he could run his practice. Now money is less of an issue and his mind is free to theorise.

But what is there to wonder about Garrus? He is polite when the man arrives at his door, civil but not warm. Come inside. Take a seat. Have a drink. His mind swats away the idea to set another man on fire and guides him to his desk. He stands in front and waits for his guest to choose a chair: one of several arranged in a circle.]

Well, let's get started, shall we?

[Behind him, a bookcase filled ceiling to floor. Upon the desk are notes, papers, journals all arranged in orderly piles. His office is a comfortable but sterile space. Everything is related to his work. Nothing is related to his personality. There are no photographs, no personal touches. Nothing a detective can read from.]

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[Well damn.]

[That's about the only thought that flicks through his head on the approach. It's a lot bigger than he'd expected. Reminding him of the place he'd seen in the Horizon a while back. Doctoring pays well, looks like. Still, he doesn't hesitate. He'd been invited, after all.]

[He's added a couple layers to his outfits, with the weather starting to cool into fall - even out here, in the Free Cities. So he peels out of it as he steps in, following Crane readily enough - though it's careful. Careful not to bash his head on a doorframe built for humans, or blunder into anything else. He's gotten used to it, over time here.]

You make it sound like a session, Doctor.

[That said, he drops into a larger sized chair. Less chance of having to hunch up in it. The wry comment giving him a chance to flick his eyes around the room. Huh - maybe the place he does sessions? It'd make sense to keep it pretty sparse.]

At this point, it's a force of habit.

[Crane refuses to smile or indulge an itch. His fingers remain clasped across his stomach. His eyes stare at Garrus all the while, scrutinising every twitch and analysing every expression.

A session, indeed.]

But they do call it a gaming session, don't they?

[Perhaps he simply enjoys the play on words?]

[The expression, in this case, is a snorted laugh. His laughs always come out dry, a little raspy. The side effect of dual vocal chords and all.]

All right, fair point. Usually, those come with controllers, though. Or game consoles.

[But there's no irritation in what he says, just amusement. This is all just a friendly game, as far as he's concerned.]

[And the doctor has one hell of a poker face, looks like. Something to keep in mind. Maybe he can rely on the whole "my face doesn't flex like a human's", if he has a real secret to keep.]

[Crane angles his head towards the nearest side table. His neutral expression refuses to waver but he digests the disconnection between amusement and facial expression - or lack thereof.]

Or a coin. But I tend to avoid gambling so I'll leave that to you.

[Upon that table is one piece of local currency. People choose the chair they find comfortable; and he was analysing Garrus before he arrived. But he leaves no chance to flip a coin and begins the game.]

One, I specialise in trauma. Two, I teach psychiatry. Three, I work with criminals.

Edited 2024-09-30 07:20 (UTC)

Not trying to turn me into a beggar? I appreciate it.

[There's still nothing but amusement in the words. His weight shifts, getting more comfortable. One elbow propped up on his knee, slightly braced against the spur there.]

Jumping right into it. All right...

[He looks the man up and down. Mandibles tapping quietly against his jaw. It's not really audible, even in the room - more that he feels it.]

I remember you doing some work in a memorial, a while back. So I'm guessing number one is true.

That depends on your definition of speciality.

[Crane slightly arches forward, brows flattened but eyes attentive. His presence intrudes, pressuring the man in the chair, though he has yet to step forward.]

My primary field is psychopharmacology. Now, given your previous line of work, would you call what I said the truth or a lie?

Oh, that's how it is, huh?

[Despite the words, he still sounds amused about it. This is just a game, after all. No harm to be had, here.]

I'd think there was some kind of truth to it. You could have a primary field, but use it for a specialization. How medicine affects trauma, or... something like that.

Well, my career involves more than simply administering to trauma, but I suppose your guess is an educated one.

[His voice is as neutral as his expression; calm and placid to the point of making others nervous. But he is glad for the change in rules, though he had broken them to prompt said change. It makes everything more interesting. So what if people preferred those original rules?

He remains standing, observing his subject.]

And your next one?

[Two options left.]

Edited 2024-10-03 09:37 (UTC)

I get the feeling a lot of psychiatrists are in that boat. At least, given where I'm from, and the state of everything.

[Maybe he's overgeneralizing here. It's entirely possible. But he'll take it. A win is a win.]

[Then he's leaning back in the chair, arms folded while he thinks it over. The other two options, he doesn't have much context for. The man doesn't strike him as a teacher, but neither the criminal work, either.]

All right, we're going shot in the dark. Criminal thing is a lie.

Ah, unfortunate.

[His wry smile brightens his face. One warm and amicable expression masking a world of curiosity and contempt. He takes the opposite seat; feet drawing together as his hands fold in his lap. In that moment, his smile recedes and his manner is once again inscrutable.]

My primary field is psychopharacology. But back home I am a forensic psychiatrist. The chief psychiatrist of a secure hospital.

[In other words, a psychiatric prison for the criminally insane.]

Damn. Well - first round to you.

[He lifts a hand in a mock-toast. Only mock because he's not actually holding a drink. The toast itself is genuine.]

Congratulations, belatedly, then. That's got to be a hell of a lot of work.

[A secure hospital for criminals. That's probably definitely a thing in space, but, given the background he's from, his first thought is of Purgatory. Would that place have benefited from someone like Crane? Maybe.]

[Or maybe nothing would have benefited that shithole. Except all the holes Jack punched in it.]

Hell is perhaps too gentle a word.

[Arkham Asylum is Hell on Earth to people like Rachel Dawes. But he likens it as Purgatory: a place where criminals are punished for their transgressions. Staff and inmates alike benefiited from his guidance and advice. And his patients? Well, they learned to submit or were controlled into obedience.]

Now, probably best you take your turn, least I begin talking work.

[His eyes roll. Is there anything more dull?]

I was trying to be polite, but, yeah. Agreed. I've seen one or two in my time. They don't get any better.

[Which is kind of a depressing thought, all things considered.]

[He leans back slightly, folding his arms over his chest, and thinking.]

I've killed a man with a cough. I work with the last member of an extinct race. The only person who can out-calibrate me is an AI.

[One statement is fantastical so much it sounds true. One is too obscure to be eliminated without doubt: he'll return to it later. One left to examine. This one sounds too mundane that it must be a red herring. But he understands how to mask a lie by making it resemble the truth. He has his grandmother to thank for that. He has her punishments to thank for that.]

Plenty contract colds over their lifetime. I suppose that one is true?

[The one about a cough, obviously.]

Mm, thought that was a good one. But yeah. It's true. At least that's what was noted as the cause of death.

[It might have been a bit... over the top. But on the other hand? The guy was a murdering bastard who took pleasure in it.]

He was a viral specialist. Used specific diseases on his victims to tailor their murders to his liking. Downside was, his species has immune systems like wet paper bags themselves. [He stretches his legs out, with a shrug.] Cracked his helmet open and gave him a ... taste of his own medicine.

[And then left his enviro-suit shorted out to keep it from combating the infection.]

Arrogant men need to imagine themselves more important than their subjects. I bet your sentence terrified him; reminded him he is no more important than his victims.

[One statement down. Two to analyse and dissect. One to choose. Does questioning both violate the rules? He cannot bother himself to care.]

Speaking of retribution, I imagine that member of an extinct race you speak of is looking for it? No wonder you get along so well.

One would hope. Didn't stick around to find out. But from what the cleanup crews talked about, it was messy.

[And no less than the guy deserved.]

Huh. Didn't think you'd get that one. [Though he does pause, thoughtfully.] I'm not sure exactly what he's after, though, except he's a soldier. Like the rest of us. So he signed on.

[Javik mostly talked to Shepard, when he was doing anything other than trolling.]

I'm half convinced he's just around to call us primitive.

[Crane stares at Garrus. His lip twist into a bright smile. His statement had been nothing but conversation; the kind designed to trip someone over his own words. That Garrus had accepted it as the right answer? Well, that was entirely his fault, wasn't it?]

Well, we must all have something that keeps us going.

[He slowly backs into his desk and rests against it, arms stetched in confidence, palms splayed on the grain. But he returns his hands to cross against his stomach as though the gesture was too personal. His downward glance only makes him look awkward.]

Maybe I should've gone with our more obscure adventures. Or the mundane ones...

[He's not upset at this loss of the game. It's fine, this is all just friendly, after all.]

But maybe I should have expected that, going up against a doctor like you.

[His posture is casual too, unbothered. Stretching out his legs a little more to accommodate himself in the chair. If Crane moves, he'll pull them back. This is just more comfortable.]

In my defense, though, the AI did not out calibrate me.

[His head cants sideways, as though listening to an inaudible comment.]

At this point, that hardly surprirses me. I know you are good at your career, especially given how advanced computers must be in your day and age. At least compared to how they stalled on me back in the day.

[Even computers hate me, smh.]

Stalled out? What happened?

[A computer not functioning when it's not Vega kicking it? Sounds fake, buddy.]

But if you're ever interested, I've got more than a couple in my ah - the Domain. One of the few things I can get right in that Horizon.

[Imaginative places hate him. Does that make them reasonably even?]

Well, that is most suitable. I do love receiving invitations to parties of one.

[Really, he would rather endure one invite over a dozen. Office parties are the bane of his existence, tolerated only for the social order.]

I'll look inside my calendar and see when I can surprise you. Maybe I'll drop in.

[When you're not there.]

Or two, in this case. Mine's connected to Shepard's.

[Because of course it is. Like he'd have tried to connect to anyone else from home, too. It just makes sense to him.]

Just be sure to knock. I might be busy calibrating something - you never know.

[Garrus please get other hobbies. Please.]

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I shouldn't be so curious

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I am SO SORRY I thought I replied already!

No problem!

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