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[That he's tired goes without saying: everyone's tired these days, or at least it seems that way between network posts and the worn-down faces passed in hallways. So Garrus skips discussing it when he snaps on the feed, managing to set his communicator down for a decent view of himself settled near the ship's pools. The lighting's too dim for it but really, try asking if he cares.]

Considering the fact that I've spent my life going from point A to point B between star systems, I think it's fairly safe to assume that just about every culture out there has their customs. And no, I'm not about to ask you to give me an in-depth lecture on what yours are or where they came from, so don't feel obligated to-- or at least try not to be offended when I fall asleep just before you get to 'the good part'. It's been a long week.

But I do need help.

See, for turians, being barefaced like this isn't exactly a plus. Usually we wear tattoos representing the place where we were born, but at this point I'll take just about anything you've got that'll leave a mark on human skin as a substitute. Preferably in bulk.

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I can't promise much, but I am pretty sure that with a little practice, I can manage something semi-permanent. Ought to last at least a few weeks.

[He's got a faint memory of a modified charm the twins used to write all sorts of ridiculous things all over Quidditch team.]

[ otherwise this is just asking for robb to interrupt again. ]

You tattoo your face?

[ it would be vastly improved.... ]

[...Turian, Turian...Thinking, thinking, nope doesn't ring a bell. He's just going to ignore it as that's not on his list of Aliens to Kill and so he can offer to help! Sort of. Kind of. Ish.

That's a combat knife he's holding up by the way as he talks and he's not wearing his helmet for now.]

I could offer something more permanent if you don't mind pain.

[Yes he's totally offering to scar your face up, Garrus.]

You mean you've never done it before. [That's not concern in his voice it's just-- okay, no there's some slight concern there.]

I have, but it's been a while. Whatever I did wouldn't be permanent, but I'd want to do a couple of tests first just to make sure that you weren't allergic or anything.

Pretty sure scars work as the masochist's substitute if you're in the mood to volunteer to be poked full of holes and ooze everywhere.

[ obviously a cheerful mental image here, right. ]

I mean, I won't judge you if that's your thing, but — [ wait for it ] — I'll definitely be judging you. Just a little.

[He gets that's probably what she's thinking; he doesn't blame her for it, either.]

Would you prefer it if we tattooed something else, Arya?

[You know, he doesn't at all look phased by that idea-- though he's fairly certain that somewhere off in the vastness that is space, Wrex is laughing in his general direction.]

Thanks, but I've got my share of those. Unless of course that's all part of the process; I don't pretend to understand how human tattoos work.

[From one tattooed species to another.]

Maybe there's something in the gardens that could be used to tattoo your skin. Or in the science department.

I don't care. It's not my face.

Edited 2013-09-16 05:21 (UTC)

I'd say I'm not much of one, but let's be real about this: anyone that jumps in front of enemy rifle scopes on the regular is probably a little less than sane to begin with.

As for the oozing, so far I feel like that's all I've done. [But he's not complaining-- not really, at least. There's even the tug of a grin at the corner of his mouth when he says it.]

Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but just how much of a while are we talking about here?

Which is a shame, if you ask me.

[It'd be vastly improved.]

I don't suppose you know where I could get one.

Not here. [ in braavos there were many he might have asked.

and because she's curious: ] What would you get?

I don't doubt it, but I'm not big on plantlife, and I'm definitely not in the mood to play the game 'is this poisonous to humans, let's find out'.

Mayhaps you should consider a mask, if you're striving for something impermanent.

[SHE SOUNDS REALLY WARY FOR SOMEONE WHO DOESN'T KNOW HIM]

I'd help out but I'm not even sure what some of plants are. There's got to be at least one person who knows plants around here somewhere.

It's...[Garrus scuffs a few knuckles against his chin in thought, the movement less stop-start than before. He's improving.] hard to explain. To someone unfamiliar with them, they'd all wind up looking like a series of bars and connected shapes.

I guess I'm going to have to figure out a way to draw it out, though. You know, for reference.

Or a database that spells it all out for us. [Combing through hundreds of thousands of files: sounds like so much fun.]

So, yours: tattoos or the real thing? Call me curious. [He's never really seen a race like yours, after all.]

Thanks, but I tried. They don't have any in my size.

[You know, he's starting to get the hang of this. Patterns of speech, style of dress-- barely contained distrust.] Let me guess, you know Arya.

Sounds easier to find someone who knows plants. And faster. [If he's really that worried about going around without them.]

Pigmentation. My species may come in different colors but there's always white pigmentation. [And since they're sharing.] Do all turians look human?

She is my daughter, yes. [And hey, at least she hasn't gone all mama wolf on him.] I was by her side when she first spoke to you.

[Now that gets a laugh.] If I said yes, I'd be lying.

Apparently whoever's running this show has a nasty sense of humor. Believe me when I say that I looked one hell of a lot different before I woke up here.

[Wait. What?] They changed you? Why would they do that?

[And why not her?]

Listen, buddy. They don't care about what side of the galaxy you're from. As long as you're -

[wait, back up.]

Tell me you usually look like this.

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