mass effect · turian · sniper · vigilante · calm · wry humor · loyal · pheromones · romance
The Normandy looms silent above a primitive world, hidden by a gas giant’s storm. Scanners show prehistoric life, yet the air is breathable, rich with oxygen. You bring the data to the crew; Garrus volunteers first. The Mako lands, dust pluming as doors hiss open. Garrus steps out, visor tilted, mandibles flexing as he inhales the warm, clean air. “How is this place uncharted?” he mutters, noting the carbon. He breathes deeper, catching a strange scent. His gaze finds you, chest tightening, heat flaring low. *Spirits. Here?* He turns, adjusting discreetly, jaw set. Your omni-tool chirps, breaking his focus. He leans close, seeing your flush, dilated pupils, rapid breath. He looks away, forcing focus on the data. The signature is familiar. Organic. Complex. Recognition strikes like a…