“No… just wanted to get a drink.” He hadn’t really expected to actually talk to anyone tonight and it showed in how shaky he spoke, how nervous he seemed. Well… that and the fact that this was still the Primarch.
“I just figured people important had shit to do and couldn’t just go to bars and stuff,” he mumbled. "Like you don’t have time and shit.“
"I don’t.” he agreed dryly, “And I went against at least four different dictates of my advisers by being here." He raised his glass, his expression carefully neutral, and tipped it towards Tavian. "Cheers to that." He took a modest sip, savoring the burn as it went down.
"Believe it or not, sometimes I get to enjoy certain pastimes of my own. At this point, anything that takes me away from the embassies becomes a new favorite hobby of mine. Here–” He makes a terse gesture, “–put whatever you’d like on my tab. It would be my pleasure." He was too intent on enjoying his drink to linger on the painful stiffness of their exchange. It was obvious that no amount of sociability on Adrien’s part would make Tavian any more comfortable in his presence.
Today, Tavi had kept to himself. After the few incidents at work, he needed the low profile, needed to stay quiet, and even after he got to go home he kept those walls up, just for the few days it would take for Senya to calm again. At least that was what he reassured himself.
A drink at the bar would be fine as long as he didn’t draw attention. He even kept the club clothes at home, dressed now in one of the few outfits he had that completely covered him. Enough for a quiet drink before he went back home. He’d thought at least.
Then came the voice saying his name. Tavi tensed up and he looked at the source, frowning when he recognized him. Even if the primarch wasn’t trying… it was hard to turn off the intimidation completely. ”…I-I didn’t know you went to bars.”
He released a low chuckle, talons curled around the glass of amber liquid, his eyes hooded with amusement. He couldn’t believe a statement like that could possibly be said with sincerity, but he shrugged it aside, regardless. “I do, from time to time.” He answered, nonplussed. “I also eat food, drink water, and sleep." He shrugged, rolling his broad shoulders. "Well, I sleep – in theory. In actuality, you’ll find me here. You can guess I have a great deal on my mind.”
He paused, eyes raking over the younger turian’s choice of clothing. “Meeting a friend?” he switched tacks, noting Tavian’s modest garb.
It wasn’t often that he came to the wards – usually, time forbade it; or his advisers would. But he liked the anonymity, melting into one entity among millions. Of course he had the colony brand upon his face – but so did countless other Palaveni turians, and even occasional recognition was better than constant scrutiny.
He needed moments to himself. He needed to collect his thoughts and let the war fade from his mind, if only for a time. He could be the general again, not the Primarch. He could be himself. And so here he was, one quiet patron in a dextro bar, an untouched glass of scotch set before him. He was keeping to himself, and drew few looks once it was clear he wasn’t prepared to socialize – not until, however, he saw a familiar face.
“Alvia." It felt foreign to say the name without a title. Lieutenant Alvia; Captain Alvia. It was a name that he had been familiar with, and a name that had been turned on its head upon meeting Tavian. He gave the turian a shallow inclination of his head, careful not to project the same intimidation that had so deeply jarred the young man their first meeting.
"₩"
“A well-intentioned kid. That’s obvious. He has a lot to overcome. Regrets that have to be dealt with, in time. He’s young. A greenhorn. It shows — but he’s got courage, too. He might not always realize it, but I see that the Alvia has pluck. He’s no orthodox turian, but maybe that’s alright.”
"Can they multi-task or must they focus on one subject at a time?"
He’s a consummate multitasker. Being a general requires the ability to consider a lot of variables, far in advance. Granted, advancing through the meritocracy brings different kinds of challenges, and - ironically - a lot less personal involvement regarding detailed management….but overall, more broad strokes and sweeping changes. He has to multitask well or risk losing the pieces he’s juggling.
He flinched at the sudden rise in tone and volume. His mandibles fluttered uneasily but he listened. That was all he could do, listen. He was far gone but not so much that he thought about interrupting the Primarch while he spoke.
“Understood,” he said softly. He glanced up just to lock eyes for a moment before looking away. "Thanks I guess.“ It was all he could do to just thank the man. Thank the damn Primarch himself for going against the laws and not arresting him on the spot.
Victus assessed the short turian, suppressing a flicker of pity for the scared thing. Damn, basic would have torn the boy to shreds. He allowed himself a rare sigh, stepping back to ease up on the kid. He knew he had the tendency to come off as…intense, or abrasive. "Alright.” He admitted subdued subvocals, “Enough of the lecture.” He jerked his arm to the side in a sweeping, dismissive gesture.
“I’m not your enemy – I’m your Primarch, and it’s my duty to help you. Understand? You take care of yourself.”
He went quiet, curling in on himself even further somehow. They cared. That was the problem. They cared when they really, really shouldn’t bother. He wasn’t worth it and he knew that.
“…It probably won’t matter anymore. It’s been long enough that me comin’ back would definitely be worse.” He was near hugging himself now. "I’m not a person anyone oughta want to be related to.“
"Varrenshit.” He barked. Victus had no right to interfere – Spirits, he was probably making it worse; but he had never been the type to let someone, let a turian think so little of themselves. “You’d be surprised. Sometimes, we don’t appreciate our own treasures until we think them lost. As I’ve said – I don’t know you or your family, but you shouldn’t heap such shame upon yourself. It’s not worth it.” He spoke quietly, but forcefully and with conviction.
“—It’s not worth living up to expectations you’ll never be ready to meet. Tavian, find your own goals and see them through. Be happy with your own choices - perhaps your family would be, too. I’ll live the rest of my life in regret. My son finally fulfilled my expectations, but he was lost to me in the process – hell, he may have been lost to me years before.”
He flicked his mandibles at the boy, chin up. “Maybe someday you’ll feel ready to call your family. And when you do, tell them that the Primarch of Palaven gives his regards.”
“…If they are, they shouldn’t be. I cause problems, they’re better off not knowin’.” He straightened up again. "Just please don’t tell no one!“
He knew he was coming off nervous, desperate, but at this point… well, he was both of those. And he knew it all too well right now.
He inclined his head, according the boy his respect and his bond. "You have my word.” Amber eyes flickered over the young man, experienced and quick to pick up minutia, particularly in the unsure set of his shoulders, the anxiety in his subharmonics.
“–I apologize, but you may have noticed I tend to step on peoples’ toes.” He paused. “Human expression. I’ll keep my vow to you, but whatever problems you think you create are minimal compared to the worries you’d cause your family. Regardless of what you think of yourself, don’t forget that they care about you, even if they may realize that too late. I don’t know you. I don’t know your family. But I speak from experience.”
Tavi stared at the hand and then, tentatively, reached out to take the hand, shaking it. ”Y-you might of known my grandparents or something but…” He sighed. ”N-none of them know where I am. Please don’t tell ‘em or nothing?”
The Primarch chuffs, disgruntled. “I’m not that old yet.” But he rolls his shoulders, as if to shrug it off. “I won’t say a thing.” This was quite the nervous one, wasn’t he? Something of the father’s instinct rose in him, and he could not help but offer– “Surely they’re worried about you?”
"*sets url*"
I know almost nothing about this boy, who seems so frightened of everything that I represent. I want to do right by him, to learn more about him and to encourage him in whatever passions he wants to pursue. I can’t help but see my son in him – not in demeanor, or appearance, or predilections – but in a soul trying to find his own way, out of alignment with the Hierarchy’s expectations. I know I am projecting, but I am totally sincere.