[ As Garrus tells the tale, Noh-Varr looks at the visor. The names as inscribed in a language he doesn't speak, so he lifts his cuff to help read them out: Erash, Monteague, Mierin, Grundan Krul, Melenis, Ripper, Sensat, Vortash, Butler, Weaver. A few sound vaguely human, and it makes him wonder what kind of people they were. The last line of letters is charred, but still readable: Sidonis. He memorizes those names. He's been on both ends of betrayal. Nothing is ever clean, but he knows that hurt.
Garrus pulls him in close, and he allows it, feeling the tracing of talons against the skin of his waist. When he turns his face up to Garrus', he's smiling, warm, perhaps a bit secretive. His priority is a superhero. Handing back the visor, he traces the scars on Garrus' right side. ]
Not bad for a missile to the face, Archangel. I like it.
[ 'I survived, and they didn't.' He especially likes the sound of that. He leans up, kissing Garrus' chin. ]
I'm glad you made it. [ But more importantly: ] Where will you go from here?
no subject
Garrus pulls him in close, and he allows it, feeling the tracing of talons against the skin of his waist. When he turns his face up to Garrus', he's smiling, warm, perhaps a bit secretive. His priority is a superhero. Handing back the visor, he traces the scars on Garrus' right side. ]
Not bad for a missile to the face, Archangel. I like it.
[ 'I survived, and they didn't.' He especially likes the sound of that. He leans up, kissing Garrus' chin. ]
I'm glad you made it. [ But more importantly: ] Where will you go from here?