You know how I feel, dork <3

“Spirits…Garrus Vakarian.  A loaded name in a time like this.  Polarized.  A third of the galaxy admires him, a third hates the example he sets, and the rest are locked and loaded, seeking their revenge.  He deserves all of it — but hell if I don’t pray he comes out on top.

He’s far from orthodox, and that’s exactly what our people need right now.  I’m easily the most progressive turian of my rank, but Vakarian far surpasses me.  You can’t just duplicate the kind of bond he has with the krogan and quarian peoples.  The humans.  Species that had long been called ‘enemy’ sit in our councils, fight by our side, die with us.  He gets it.  I may work within the system — Vakarian defies it.  ‘What system?’  He’s made countless enemies like this, but he has good people at his back, watching his six.

We’ll butt heads from time to time —” 

          { an unrestrained laugh } 

"—but considering his relationship with the krogan Clan Chief, that shouldn’t surprise me.  I know there are arguments, disagreements, heated words in our future.  I’m ready for it.  I trust him to put us in our place and call us out when we deserve it.  He’s the dynamism the Hierarchy desperately needs, whether we like it or not.

I’m proud of the kid, even if he can’t see in himself what I so easily can.  He’s smart.  Savvy.  Pragmatic.  He’s dedicated as hell and he actually cares.  Maybe he’d cringe at Die For the Cause, but he embodies our anthem better than anyone I know.  Someday, perhaps, he’ll see why.”

You did what?! || imperatorvictus

theroguesniper:”

The sound of his own name made him stop in his tracks, caught completely off-guard. He’d never expected the Primarch to call him by his given name. Especially not considering the kind of noise he was making, complaining about this whole thing.

Garrus turned slowly, his expression clearly one of puzzlement and bewilderment, mixed with the fury that had not yet gone from his eyes. The war was over, the Reapers were history and still he could not catch a damn break. For over four years he had fought this war, long before any of them had even believed Shepard. For over four years he had traipsed across the galaxy, ran errands for the Alliance and the Council and all manner of politicians, put his neck on the line more than warranted, sometimes even for menial and unnecessary “missions.”

And just when he had thought it was over, even considering how miserable and lonely he was given Shepard’s condition, they dropped this on him?

Thank you very much for your accomplishments and role in ending the war, Vakarian, please help yourself to more responsibilities, we’re sure your shoulders can hold the weight. Yes, of course, you have more than proven your worth. What do you mean you don’t want them? Well, that’s too bad, you’re gonna have to take them anyway.

Fuck that. Fuck that to the other side of the terminus systems. Fuck it through the damn Omega-4 Relay thrice over. He’d rather face another thresher maw on foot.

And still, he had no choice. High Command had made its decision, and High Command he would obey. Mostly. Not without a fight first, though.

He listened to Victus, if only barely, and it infuriated him. It infuriated him because Victus was right. He knew what it was like to be pulled from the place you’re supposed to be, with no say on the matter. He damned fucking knew, and Garrus had been the one to break the news to him, together with Shepard.

His mind was reeling, and he swallowed hard, fingers curling into fists as he stood straight and looked Victus in the eye. ”Yeah, well, at least it’s your middle years, Sir.” He scoffed, subvocals laced with unconcealed bitterness. “I am barely thirty, I just helped end a war I’ve been fighting far longer than any of you, and how do they thank me? With a damned desk job as a politician, no less!” He was raising his voice, he knew. He didn’t quite care.

“Why, it’s perfect! This was exactly how I planned to spend the better part of my life!” He was pacing again. Victus’ last words, however, made him turn on the Primarch, his expression ferocious.

"I’ve earned that much? I’ve earned that much?!” He was almost hysterical, beside himself with anger and frustration and a number of other feelings he couldn’t quite place, as he painfully punctuated each word to drive the point home. This was a joke, and a really distasteful one, at that. “Do you know what I think I’ve earned, Primarch? A damned break, that’s what. One you people are denying me because you are completely incapable of holding the damn galaxy together without Shepard around to keep you all on a leash and help you play nice with the other races. So now her role falls to me, because you damn well know I’m as capable as she is of calling bullshit and building ‘diplomatic’ bridges.” He stopped pacing again. He was agitated, his breathing shallow, his heart beating fast in his chest. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, and he knew he was completely justified in his behavior.

If he had overstepped the line —which he probably had,— he really did not care.

    It sure as hell wasn’t a tirade that Victus was used to hearing.  Who’d dare to challenge the Primarch of Palaven like this?  It wasn’t arrogance, not exactly.  He was simply a man accustomed to obedience, to commands and dictates being carried out along the natural hierarchy.  Harmonious.  Sensible. Orderly.  …Vakarian was none of those things.

   He’d caught the look of puzzlement that had crossed Garrus’ face, withering the rage, even if only for a moment.  And why should Adrien not call him that?  Vakarian was a peer, now, and one whom he respected immensely.  While he might not have approved of this tantrum, he did not fully begrudge the ex C-Sec officer his right to have it.  The whole operation had been handled poorly; the vote went out of his hands.  High Command demanded a new Primarch, and Garrrus’ name had come up.  When asked on his recommendation, Victus had not lied. 

                                                    –They would find none better.

  And yet, Adrien had known, even as the Primarchy came to a consensus, that he was sealing the young war hero into his own tomb.  It was the turian way to make sacrifices.  He had lost his own son to the galaxy’s conflicts.  He had made his own, in turn.  And now the Hierarchy demanded the same of Vakarian – and hell if he wouldn’t answer the call.  He didn’t have a choice.  That did not mean, however, that Victus would not try to lend a hand, if he could.  Already he was working to petition the council to allow Garrus time.  It was what he needed.  What he deserved.

        { And Victus could not deny that he was being calculating about it – offer himself as an

            ally in all this; fight for Garrus’ right to be relieved of duty, if only for a little while.

                     He’d come back, eventually.  An uneventful life was not in the man’s blood. }

    The old general slowly raised himself up with a private sigh, pads of his talons barely grazing the surface of his desk, his shoulders taut like bowstrings, yet they remained stooped.  He cast an even glance to Garrus from beneath the dark ridges of his browplates, not yet standing at his full height.

   He knew, even if Vakarian did not – or did not care – that it was precisely these qualities that so endeared the younger turian to him.  It was a damned strength, of character and of spirit, that animated the newest Primarch even now.  He might have stepped neatly (hell, leaped) over the boundary of professionalism, but Victus keenly understood the need driving Vakarian forward.  The anger, the motivation to escape the cage that had so effectively sprung up around him.  Adrien had felt the same.

   He stood, wordless, until Garrus had said his peace.  He paid no heed to the spitting vitriol, the accusations flung at him, slights both real and imagined.  "What do you think Shepard would say about you, right now?” He asked his question quietly.  There was no need to raise his voice.  What he’d done would sting well enough.

You did what?! || imperatorvictus

theroguesniper:

Victus’ calmness only fueled his anger. How the hell could he be so calm?! This was not okay. He hated it, he hated everything about this. He was no leader, certainly not Primarch material. High Command had lost their damn minds and were dragging him down with them.

Giving the Primarch a glare, he pushed off the table and turned around brusquely, turning his back on him. He started pacing, stopped, turned to look at Victus again.

“Qualified? Me?” he scoffed. His voice was an octave higher than it should have been, shrill and loaded with disbelief. “With all due respect, sir, have you lost your mind?!” He started pacing again.

Step, step, step, step, pivot; step, step, step, step, pivot again.

“You’re wrong. I’m not made to be a leader. Of any kind. Let alone a Primarch.” He’d been a leader before, and what had it gotten him? His entire team killed, all but one, the one who had betrayed him. He couldn’t lead. It had been his fault and he could not lead.

No. He wouldn’t have it. No. No, no, no, no, no.

He couldn’t have it. They couldn’t just place an entire colony cluster in his hands, not knowing who he was, what he had done. No. No more deaths in his hands. No more decisions weighing on his shoulders. 

He stopped again and fixed his eyes on Victus. “I was expecting to retire, sir.” 

Lies. He couldn’t have taken retiring. He was young, he still had his entire life ahead of him. Retiring would have driven him up the damn walls. Still, anything sounded better than the Primarchy.

Victus needed to understand. He had to make him see.

  He laced his hands together, resting them together on his desk, eyes keen but deceptively calm.  He allowed Vakarian his little tantrum.  It was hardly professional, but entirely justified.  Too much had been placed on his shoulders.  Not that he could not bear the burden – only that he should not have to.  Not after all he had done.

  “Garrus.” He finally broke through, his tone measured.  If he had any reservations, he did not express them now. “You’ve shown to High Command that you are more than capable of truly quality leadership.  Ironically, you would not be a Primarch now if you lacked such potential.  You know better than most how expectations do not often lead to realities.  You deserve better than this.  That, I grant you.  Believe me, I know the feeling of being trapped, being pulled from the place you belong.  I may not have the record you’ve made for yourself in the past few years, but I’ve been a soldier for a long time.  This is never how I imagined myself spending the middle years of my life.”

  He stood at last, slowly circling around his desk. “But I’m staying, for good.  I can accomplish a great deal in this position.  Progressive changes that our people need.  And you can do that, too.  Show them that you’re a hell of a turian.  You earned that much.”

Keep reading

theroguesniper:

Send me a url and muse will talk about them.

“Victus, huh? I kinda feel sorry for the guy. I really don’t envy him his position. Having to leave the battlefield like that to go do politics… damn. Don’t know if I could take it. 

I have to admit, he handled the situation incredibly well. Damn commendable, if you ask me. Took it all right in stride. Can’t really say the same of many people.

Hell, everything Victus does and says has a purpose or reason. Man knows what he’s doing, and how to do it. And uh… well. He’s imposing and I respect him greatly. Don’t know how he kept his calm after— after what happened with his son. Still, I… I think he needs a friend or two. The man seems lonely. Had a side to him I never thought I’d see. And he has a mighty fine taste in booze. Plays a mean hand of skyllian five, too.

Honestly? I figure Victus is exactly the kind of man Palaven needs right now. He’s going to bring about one hell of a change, if you ask me. I’m really looking forward to working with him and seeing where this whole thing leads us.”

[Msg;Vakarian] I don’t give a damn about your personal feelings. What kind of a statement do you think you make about the Hierarchy when you mouth off to one of the highest ranking Alliance commanders?

[Msg; Vakarian] I don’t care if you don’t like him. This is the part where you stay cordial, and calm, and you parlay with Admiral Hackett like an adult, not some moody teenager that skips off from basecamp!

[Msg; Vakarian] I’m disappointed in your actions, and so is High Command.

You did what?! || imperatorvictus

theroguesniper:

Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp.

He was furious. Outraged. Completely in disbelief. What the hell?! He had received the message early in the morning; someone had sent a messenger to fetch him as he slept by her hospital bed.

He had slept in a terrible position —what the hell were those chairs made of?— and his everything hurt. Tired and bleary, he had blinked at the young and jittery officer they had sent to get him and scoffed at the datapad he had handed him.

“You got the wrong turian, kid.” He’d half-yawned, stretching, twisting his neck to try and ease off the pain. “I’m not Primarch. It’s— it’s probably— Victus you’re looking for.” More yawning, more trying fruitlessly to get his neck to stop aching.

To his surprise, though, the officer had stood his ground and told him that no, he did in fact have the right person, and that he was now Primarch.

That was all it had taken for Garrus to freeze, narrow his eyes at the young man, then stand up and quite literally push past him. He needed to have a word with Victus. Primarch his damn scaly ass.

Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp. Slam.

He banged the door to Victus’ quarters open, unceremoniously letting himself in uninvited, and downright glared at the interior decorations, as he scanned the room for his aggressor. Because that was exactly what Victus was. His damned aggressor.

He found the Primarch sitting at a table, calmly surveying him. 

Garrus strode up to him, slammed his palms angrily on the table, and fixed the Primarch with the angriest look he could manage.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” His voice was icy cold, his subvocals betraying him to his rage. He did not care. 

    "Garrus. I was wondering when you’d arrive. I’d offer for you to sit down, but I see you’re not in the mood.” He’d stared down a raging clan chief, withstood heavy mortar fire during the Relay 314 Incident, outmaneuvered turian separatists on Taetrus, and weathered the Reaper War.  This angry tirade – expected, for what it was worth – was hardly going to unruffle him.

    Perhaps he was baiting the man, just a bit, but he had taken his post without passionate complaint.  Yes, Vakarian had been forced to leave his lover’s side, but Victus had been forced to leave a burning Palaven.  Sometimes, it was the sacrifices, not the victories, that made the soldier.

    “When the Primarchy met, your name was put forward by Caelstonia of Invictus.  I didn’t lie.  I spoke my mind, my belief few would be more qualified than you. I know you’ve more than earned your dues.  You helped the Commander save us all, but the Hierarchy is fragile.  For what it’s worth, I suggested that we waive your name as candidate, but I was overruled.  Take your anger out on me all you want, Vakarian,” he growled, “but it will not erase the fact that you’re the best damn turian out there, and that you will make a fine Primarch.”

Although Vakarian himself might doubt it, he is one of the finest examples of turian valor and leadership.  The boy has many uncertainties, based, perhaps, in a personal history with which I am unfamiliar.  If he only picked his head up to see what he has accomplished, perhaps he’d see how he helped both our people and the galaxy at large.  Vakarian has enormous potential – I would hate to see it go to waste, bridled by his own self-doubt.