arielshepard:

_{“So I’ve heard,” came her reply. An attack on a place like Purgatory would have been constituted as a massacre, but such death tolls are expected when a coup d’état is taking place. Normalcy was beginning to set into the fabric of life on the Citadel once more. But the stress of the war was placed on all the wards, the people who lived on the space station couldn’t ignore it any longer. That ignorantly blissful illusion of peace was shattered, the war was at their doorsteps and broadcasted on every video screen and radio. The coup left its scars on the steel that made up the walls. What secrets they held, the tragedies of executions and sleeper agents scheming their densely packed particles and molecules must hold. What the Lion of God wouldn’t give to pry them out with a crowbar or a laser so she could have the names of traitors who sold their species for coin or protection from terrorists.} 

_{The time was right; Ariel sought to capitalize on the Citadel’s new and sudden awareness to the war’s multiple fronts. She saw an opprotunity and she took it for herself, there was power in the information that was being circulated underneath the streams of legal channels of the military and diplomats, even the Shadow Broker. The markets were ripe for the taking. All of the interviews conducted seemed more like interrogations, the cold miasma of the officer’s demeanor meant on suffocating the other party into submission or fear. The pupils of her eyes were like eclipsed suns within a lakes of churning volcanic fire. “I sent you a message because you were recommended to me,“ the woman said, “Information, good information, is worth more than gold during these times. I believe that information belongs with the Alliance Navy and the other militaries fighting the Reapers. I’m here to make you an offer.”}

Shae almost smiled. She hadn’t been selling the information she’d gathered so far from her exclusive grip on the security feeds. She’d been hoarding it. Proof of back-room dealings, illegal weapon sales, illicit affairs, covert operations, even the keepers seemed to be up to something. And all of this sat in info-cloud software connected directly to her omnitool and buried beneath miles of encryption. Password protected and triggered to delete if the pulse-recognition failed a benchmark test—upon the omnitool’s theft or her death.

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arielshepard:

The reply sent was electronic and encrypted:

Ms. O'Reilly,

I am pleased you responded so promptly. There is a small bar nestled nicely away from Purgatory. No offense to your    fine establishment, but I detest the loudness and the crowds. I will be in Old Blue Lights bar. I look forward to our conversation.

Faithfully,
Commander Ariel Shepard, Master & Commander SSV Normandy

She sent the message and turned off her omni-tool, certain that the woman would arrive. She had one of her smaller journals with her and a fountain pen. She always found something to write, all written in that old biblical language.

Old Blue Lights bar was a was a small hole in the wall establishment frequented by Alliance officers, catering specifically to the esteemed human cliental. It was where Ariel did most of her business that was outside the military. She sat in the the booth in the darkest corner, her redwood smoking pipe adding to the haze that hovered over every head, tobacco mixing with cigar and cigarette smoke to create a very distinct smell. Her eyes and scars made her easy to find, her casual military uniform a black sweater decorated with the symbols of her service and heritage, her shoulder straight with rank.

A waitress brought the Commander a cup of tea and its accompanying pot, making sure not to disturb the woman as she wrote. She looked up and mouth a quiet and polite ‘thank you’ before resuming her writing.

arielshepard:

Ariel’s network of informers grew as more and more pledged themselves to her or her coin. Gaining the Shadow Broker wasn’t enough, she needed more information. That was a testament of her greed for more power. She was a woman who always needed to be twenty steps ahead of her enemies. She had many enemies and she needed to keep them all scrambling around in the dark. Ariel wanted all of them to suffocate in the darkness while she remained untouchable, high upon her throne. A woman of self-made myth, military-made legend, and God-made prophecy.

This was overdue. An envelope sealed with the symbol of a lion imprint in red wax arrived at Shae’s doorstep. She could have sent the woman a message on her omni-tool, but Ariel was someone who was rooted in very old ways. Handwritten in black ink, the letter reads:

Ms. O’Reilly,

Your name has floated around often enough to have gained my attention. I think it is high time we met. I’m sure you’ll have no problem contacting me.

Faithfully,

CDR. Ariel Shepard, Master & Commander SSV Normandy