[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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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?
no subject
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.]