[He's not even sure exactly how he'd gotten here, wandering lost in thought and frustration. His instructor might be dead, or dying, and there's nothing Garrus can do. Once it dawns on him where he is, after he's stared at the rover for several seconds, Garrus still doesn't know what to do. He could use someone to talk with, but Noh's close to Warriorhead and Garrus is angry with the instructor right now.
Noh-Varr would know it wasn't an accusation, though, if it comes up, right? Or maybe Garrus doesn't even need to mention Warriorhead. He can just explain Armada's hurt. Or something. He lifts a hand and knocks on the rover door.]
[ It's been a long morning. He carries the scent of the dirt and blood with him after holding Warriorhead for so long, and so considers going back to his rover to wash. He discards the idea not long after and leaves to hunt instead. He doesn't venture far; he's looking for something small, as to fit Warriorhead's preference.
He moves with more purpose than he has in months, hunting silently, like a cat. He falls on the first Shille he finds; made aggressive with pent-up energy, Noh-Varr is brutally efficient, and the poor creature is flipped, neck snapped with his bare hands before it is aware of the predator. He makes his way back to camp with his fresh kill, and that is how he finds Garrus, at his rover door, expression somber. ]
You could have texted me. [ He wonders how long Garrus waited. Dropping his prey, he moves into the turian's space, crowding him, wrapping his arms around Garrus' middle and leaning up to nose the soft underside of Garrus' chin. He smells like the jungle. Possibly worse. Doesn't care. ] I went out hunting.
[He doesn't know how long he's been leaning against the rover, staring at his blackglass, talking with Mothership and staring into the distance and feeling a complete blend of guilt, anger, shame, and worry. All he really knows is that he hadn't really considered anywhere else to go. It's Noh-Varr he wants and Noh-Varr he needs, which is only confirmed by the way it feels to be held and nuzzled by the Kree. His arms go right back around Noh-Varr, and when he speaks, his subharmonics carry the deeper hum of stress.]
Haven't been waiting long. And I didn't really know what to say.
[Noh-Varr smells like plants and dirt, violence and himself, and Garrus figures hunting explains it all. He likes it. It's honest. Not like showers aren't, but it makes Noh-Varr feel more real as Garrus rests a mandible against the crown of white hair.]
Armada's hurt.
[And he's worried. Despite the fact that he thinks Mothership would say if Armada's injuries were too serious, Warriorhead had said Armada may never again be more than a child.]
[ Noh-Varr can read those subharmonics better than possibly anyone else in camp, and as they wash over him, he takes stock of Garrus' distress. He acknowledges it, doesn't pull away. The words confirm what he suspects is coming. Garrus' words, that Armada is hurt, make him shake his head. ]
Probably dead. [ He wishes he didn't sound so defeated, but to think otherwise would be to forget how deadly Warriorhead could be, and moreover, to forget the lengths to which base instinct can drag an individual. He'd told Warriorhead once that emotion made people do things they would never consider, otherwise. This is one of those times. ] They fought.
[The denial is harsh, abrupt, before Garrus is shaking his head. He doesn't want to lash out. He's already done that once this morning, just as stupidly.]
Sorry. Didn't mean to... Armada isn't dead. He's not dying.
[There might still be plenty of denial in that. There's definitely an edge there, anger and stress and fear he's ignoring. Garrus is not ready to lose the person who re-framed being here for him, who changed it from survival for the the sake of survival to a task he could actually feel good about taking on - protection.]
But I don't get it. You don't rip someone's horn off when you're fighting unless you meant to. Intent. They...
[He looks away. Remembering Mothership's words is not the easiest task. His grip tightens around Noh-Varr, too. Warriorhead hurt Armada. Somehow there's a reason, but Garrus has no assurance that Warriorhead wouldn't wind up hurting other branches of his tree.]
[ He shakes his head mutely in the face of Garrus' denial. It isn't that he doesn't want Armada to recover--it's that he doesn't believe that this...ceremony? Ritual? can be undone, nor that either instructor would want it to. They had fought, and now things would be different. How, he can't say. But Warriorhead had appeared to him today more bent and weary than Noh-Varr had ever known him. ]
The intent to kill was there. That was the entire point.
[ Figuring that this won't go anywhere unless he explains, he motions to his rover. ]
Let's go inside. I can drop this off later.
[ He picks up the Shille again, breaking away from Garrus to lead the way inside. ]
[The point was to kill. Garrus stares for a moment after Noh-Varr's moved away to pick up the shille, still processing that. The point was to kill, and Noh-Varr knew?
He follows Noh-Varr in quietly. He's supposed to not judge too quickly but it gets so very hard sometimes. Once inside, Garrus sits down on Noh-Varr's bed, tired.]
Why would the point have been to kill him? They're friends, more than friends. And he's wandering around angry and...
[ Noh-Varr knows many things, not all of which he's able to connect. What happened this morning remains mysterious to him. He sets the shille down on the rover floor, glad that Foxtrot, their resident furball, is out with his owner. ]
They left to mate. [ He says it quietly, because it's fairly sensitive cultural information, but firmly. It's the only thing he's certain of. This would normally be the place he'd run his hand through his hair to expel the excess stress, but he doesn't allow himself the gesture now. It would be empty. His wellbeing is not at stake here, he just doesn't like the idea of someone precious to him being in pain. ]
Rejehejete'e mating practices require the partners to establish worthiness through battle. Warriorhead told me he would try to kill a potential reproductive partner out of instinct.
[ And that is clearly what happened. He leaves out Warriorhead's admitted nervousness. Telling Garrus would serve no purpose but to paint his instructor in a light that, while perhaps more relatable, Warriorhead himself would find unbecoming. ]
[Garrus closes his eyes, adding that information to everything else. Instinct. Not some actual desire to tear into Armada, instinct that happens when they're in the mood. His elbows go on his knees before he rests his forehead in his palms. Spirits. He really had misjudged Warriorhead. He's an idiot.]
Try. And he did. He did try, I mean.
[His voice is quiet, subharmonics strained.]
But he didn't succeed. Armada's still got a chance.
[But it's small. So small. Warriorhead was trying to kill him and Garrus finds he's really not sure about being able to hope, with that detail. But hope isn't about being sure. Faith isn't either.
[ Noh-Varr shakes his head, spreads his empty hands as if to exemplify the paper-thinness of his knowledge. ]
I don't know, Garrus. But hesitation in battle is a grave dishonor, and neither of them is dishonorable. Their devotion would have fueled them.
[ In other words, he doesn't believe Armada's chances are very good. It's upsetting; he remembers the faint aurora-blue pattern of light against the instructor's throat, seen up close when Armada had leaned his head against his. He likes Armada, his expertise, his easy demeanor.
Gently, he reaches forward, fingers tracing the front of Garrus' armor, but doesn't bridge the gap between them. His hand is perfectly still, as if from marble. His focus is intense. He stays like that for a moment, contemplating his emotions, wondering. Worrying about him is an insult to his capacities. But to claim there is hope is an insult to Warriorhead's strength. ]
You spoke with Warriorhead. [ A statement, not a question. ] What did he tell you?
[In just the same way, thinking that Armada could be utterly defeated is an insult to his capacities. He can't accept that Armada won't recover. Especially not when he's being taken care of. Garrus has to have hope; it's all he can do.
Garrus watches Noh-Varr's hand, feels the gap between them. Their loyalties are to the two different halves but it's them here, not the dynamics of their instructors' culture. He reaches up to gently take Noh-Varr's hand in his, hold it, run a gloved thumb over the Kree's fingers. Garrus will hope, just as he's put hope back into this, despite the answer to Noh-Varr's question.]
He tore off Armada's horn. And then he tore into his chest.
[His voice is heavy, subharmonics leaden. There's a beat before he continues. The rest is something he wants to deny hearing, possibly happening, but he has no reason to hold back here. It's not like Noh-Varr is going to get upset with Warriorhead or something, or that Garrus' words here would put the Orange instructor in danger or to shame. The Kree already knows.]
He... Armada might not be like he was, before. [And then, hastily:] But he's with Mothership. And beyond that, he's Armada.
[He's never been much of an optimist, but when Garrus puts faith in someone, it stays there. Armada is a force to be reckoned with, powerful, smart, resourceful. There's no reason to think his faith has been misplaced.]
I know you don't think there's a chance. I even figure I know why you do. But I can't count Armada out. If Warriorhead was the one that was down, you wouldn't count him out, yeah?
[ He envies Garrus' stability. Noh-Varr is like a buoy in rough waters, carried by whatever current passes. It's perhaps a hallmark of youth. He squeezes Garrus' talons in response, nods mutely. It's a grim description. He tries to imagine if Armada had returned bearing news--
He would not be speaking to Garrus, right now. He would be beside himself with confusion and hurt, trying to find avenues to spend his rage. His faith in Warriorhead would war with his want for vengeance and his knowledge that Warriorhead himself would find his impotent sadness an insult. But he's seen Warriorhead rip through his own head with a claw, before, and live. Armada is strong, but if he returns, and isn't Armada, what will change? No way to tell. That Mothership is with him is a balm, and it brings hope back to Noh-Varr's heart. He appreciates Garrus' candor, and won't betray the trust. ]
He wasn't himself this morning. [ Noh-Varr had never seen Warriorhead so erratic. His normally level-headed instructor reduced to pacing like a caged animal. ] It makes sense, if he was waiting for news on Armada.
[His rage had already lashed out, sent forward in one single word, and Garrus knows he could have died for it. That realization hadn't particularly helped, but it had sent him on more productive channels, trying to find assistance for his instructor and discovering it was already there. So he's here, because now he's left with just time and worry. There is nothing Garrus can do to help Armada. All he can do is wait and see and hope and be in the company he wants the most.]
Don't know him that well. But he wasn't. I know Armada likes... [present tense, he's going to keep it present no matter what and it's an active choice.] He likes to look good, or did for our outing. Green's outing. Don't know if that's cultural or just a him thing, but I've never seen either of them a mess. And Warriorhead was a mess.
[It's easier to relate, if Garrus attributes the tension to Warriorhead waiting on news. The instructor had seemed certain that there wasn't enough left of Armada to make a difference, but Garrus doesn't want to believe that.
He looks down at their hands. There's stability here, a harbor offered to sort through what's going on along with more light given into the situation. Noh-Varr's hands are soft but strong. Clean, unlike the hands he'd so recently focused on as they cradled a horn, Armada's horn. Would it grow back? Or would it always be gone, a mute testimony to the one time Armada hadn't moved fast enough? Garrus' free hand goes up to touch his right mandible, run along the scar there.]
He has Armada's horn with him. Probably not... Don't know if that helps or hurts him.
[And he doesn't know which he wants, because despite understanding what happened, Warriorhead is still responsible. He knows which Noh-Varr would want, but Garrus is too tense to be entirely all right with Warriorhead just yet.]
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D111, after the WH log
Noh-Varr would know it wasn't an accusation, though, if it comes up, right? Or maybe Garrus doesn't even need to mention Warriorhead. He can just explain Armada's hurt. Or something. He lifts a hand and knocks on the rover door.]
no subject
He moves with more purpose than he has in months, hunting silently, like a cat. He falls on the first Shille he finds; made aggressive with pent-up energy, Noh-Varr is brutally efficient, and the poor creature is flipped, neck snapped with his bare hands before it is aware of the predator. He makes his way back to camp with his fresh kill, and that is how he finds Garrus, at his rover door, expression somber. ]
You could have texted me. [ He wonders how long Garrus waited. Dropping his prey, he moves into the turian's space, crowding him, wrapping his arms around Garrus' middle and leaning up to nose the soft underside of Garrus' chin. He smells like the jungle. Possibly worse. Doesn't care. ] I went out hunting.
no subject
Haven't been waiting long. And I didn't really know what to say.
[Noh-Varr smells like plants and dirt, violence and himself, and Garrus figures hunting explains it all. He likes it. It's honest. Not like showers aren't, but it makes Noh-Varr feel more real as Garrus rests a mandible against the crown of white hair.]
Armada's hurt.
[And he's worried. Despite the fact that he thinks Mothership would say if Armada's injuries were too serious, Warriorhead had said Armada may never again be more than a child.]
Badly.
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Probably dead. [ He wishes he didn't sound so defeated, but to think otherwise would be to forget how deadly Warriorhead could be, and moreover, to forget the lengths to which base instinct can drag an individual. He'd told Warriorhead once that emotion made people do things they would never consider, otherwise. This is one of those times. ] They fought.
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[The denial is harsh, abrupt, before Garrus is shaking his head. He doesn't want to lash out. He's already done that once this morning, just as stupidly.]
Sorry. Didn't mean to... Armada isn't dead. He's not dying.
[There might still be plenty of denial in that. There's definitely an edge there, anger and stress and fear he's ignoring. Garrus is not ready to lose the person who re-framed being here for him, who changed it from survival for the the sake of survival to a task he could actually feel good about taking on - protection.]
But I don't get it. You don't rip someone's horn off when you're fighting unless you meant to. Intent. They...
[He looks away. Remembering Mothership's words is not the easiest task. His grip tightens around Noh-Varr, too. Warriorhead hurt Armada. Somehow there's a reason, but Garrus has no assurance that Warriorhead wouldn't wind up hurting other branches of his tree.]
no subject
The intent to kill was there. That was the entire point.
[ Figuring that this won't go anywhere unless he explains, he motions to his rover. ]
Let's go inside. I can drop this off later.
[ He picks up the Shille again, breaking away from Garrus to lead the way inside. ]
no subject
He follows Noh-Varr in quietly. He's supposed to not judge too quickly but it gets so very hard sometimes. Once inside, Garrus sits down on Noh-Varr's bed, tired.]
Why would the point have been to kill him? They're friends, more than friends. And he's wandering around angry and...
[Garrus trails off, shaking his head yet again.]
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They left to mate. [ He says it quietly, because it's fairly sensitive cultural information, but firmly. It's the only thing he's certain of. This would normally be the place he'd run his hand through his hair to expel the excess stress, but he doesn't allow himself the gesture now. It would be empty. His wellbeing is not at stake here, he just doesn't like the idea of someone precious to him being in pain. ]
Rejehejete'e mating practices require the partners to establish worthiness through battle. Warriorhead told me he would try to kill a potential reproductive partner out of instinct.
[ And that is clearly what happened. He leaves out Warriorhead's admitted nervousness. Telling Garrus would serve no purpose but to paint his instructor in a light that, while perhaps more relatable, Warriorhead himself would find unbecoming. ]
timeline shenanigans...
Try. And he did. He did try, I mean.
[His voice is quiet, subharmonics strained.]
But he didn't succeed. Armada's still got a chance.
[But it's small. So small. Warriorhead was trying to kill him and Garrus finds he's really not sure about being able to hope, with that detail. But hope isn't about being sure. Faith isn't either.
Garrus opens his eyes and looks up at Noh-Varr.]
He could come back.
[He's not sure it's not a question.]
no subject
I don't know, Garrus. But hesitation in battle is a grave dishonor, and neither of them is dishonorable. Their devotion would have fueled them.
[ In other words, he doesn't believe Armada's chances are very good. It's upsetting; he remembers the faint aurora-blue pattern of light against the instructor's throat, seen up close when Armada had leaned his head against his. He likes Armada, his expertise, his easy demeanor.
Gently, he reaches forward, fingers tracing the front of Garrus' armor, but doesn't bridge the gap between them. His hand is perfectly still, as if from marble. His focus is intense. He stays like that for a moment, contemplating his emotions, wondering. Worrying about him is an insult to his capacities. But to claim there is hope is an insult to Warriorhead's strength. ]
You spoke with Warriorhead. [ A statement, not a question. ] What did he tell you?
no subject
Garrus watches Noh-Varr's hand, feels the gap between them. Their loyalties are to the two different halves but it's them here, not the dynamics of their instructors' culture. He reaches up to gently take Noh-Varr's hand in his, hold it, run a gloved thumb over the Kree's fingers. Garrus will hope, just as he's put hope back into this, despite the answer to Noh-Varr's question.]
He tore off Armada's horn. And then he tore into his chest.
[His voice is heavy, subharmonics leaden. There's a beat before he continues. The rest is something he wants to deny hearing, possibly happening, but he has no reason to hold back here. It's not like Noh-Varr is going to get upset with Warriorhead or something, or that Garrus' words here would put the Orange instructor in danger or to shame. The Kree already knows.]
He... Armada might not be like he was, before. [And then, hastily:] But he's with Mothership. And beyond that, he's Armada.
[He's never been much of an optimist, but when Garrus puts faith in someone, it stays there. Armada is a force to be reckoned with, powerful, smart, resourceful. There's no reason to think his faith has been misplaced.]
I know you don't think there's a chance. I even figure I know why you do. But I can't count Armada out. If Warriorhead was the one that was down, you wouldn't count him out, yeah?
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He would not be speaking to Garrus, right now. He would be beside himself with confusion and hurt, trying to find avenues to spend his rage. His faith in Warriorhead would war with his want for vengeance and his knowledge that Warriorhead himself would find his impotent sadness an insult. But he's seen Warriorhead rip through his own head with a claw, before, and live. Armada is strong, but if he returns, and isn't Armada, what will change? No way to tell. That Mothership is with him is a balm, and it brings hope back to Noh-Varr's heart. He appreciates Garrus' candor, and won't betray the trust. ]
He wasn't himself this morning. [ Noh-Varr had never seen Warriorhead so erratic. His normally level-headed instructor reduced to pacing like a caged animal. ] It makes sense, if he was waiting for news on Armada.
no subject
Don't know him that well. But he wasn't. I know Armada likes... [present tense, he's going to keep it present no matter what and it's an active choice.] He likes to look good, or did for our outing. Green's outing. Don't know if that's cultural or just a him thing, but I've never seen either of them a mess. And Warriorhead was a mess.
[It's easier to relate, if Garrus attributes the tension to Warriorhead waiting on news. The instructor had seemed certain that there wasn't enough left of Armada to make a difference, but Garrus doesn't want to believe that.
He looks down at their hands. There's stability here, a harbor offered to sort through what's going on along with more light given into the situation. Noh-Varr's hands are soft but strong. Clean, unlike the hands he'd so recently focused on as they cradled a horn, Armada's horn. Would it grow back? Or would it always be gone, a mute testimony to the one time Armada hadn't moved fast enough? Garrus' free hand goes up to touch his right mandible, run along the scar there.]
He has Armada's horn with him. Probably not... Don't know if that helps or hurts him.
[And he doesn't know which he wants, because despite understanding what happened, Warriorhead is still responsible. He knows which Noh-Varr would want, but Garrus is too tense to be entirely all right with Warriorhead just yet.]