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Movement of the Stars#01 Motion
As the ship thrums into life all around her, Shepard revels in the subtle sense of motion; for a moment, she understands the movement of the stars.
Jacob feels the gel pack settle onto his burning forehead, and when he looks up and sees Miranda's face, not Chakwas', all he can do is smile.
Lynne Shepard is shoved toward the alien, his four eyes narrowing in scrutiny as the human recruiter grunts, "She's puny, but she's got the temper of an angry varrenthe Reds could use one like her."
Tali's steps resonate throughout the suddenly quiet Flotilla, but she keeps her bright eyes trained on Shepard's backshe won't make her final moments here important ones.
He said "She deserves a better man than I," but as the words formed on his lips Jacob had to shove aside something that felt suspiciously like lying.
She recalls the softness of their tiny features, the way she would trace fo
Angels WeptAshley Williams stepped out of the elevator on the SSV Normandy while tying her hair into a regulation bun. She hadnt been able to sleep, but at two thirty six in the morning AST, there was only so much to occupy her time. After cleaning her guns again, and re-organizing her locker, she had resigned to go to the mess. No one would be up anyway and maybe a glass of milk would help her sleep.
She wasnt sure how milk and sleep were correlated, but after a restless evening like hers, she was willing to try anything.
What she didnt expect was to turn the corner and see Commander Shepard.
Ashley froze. At first, out of fear of being caught. The crew was on a strict sleep schedule to keep everyone at their most energized. She wasnt supposed to be wandering the mess in the middle of the night. She felt her body freeze a second time at the thought of how strange it was to see Shepard by herself. If the commander was out of her quarters a crew of at least three people at
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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