the height of prothean innovation (closed)

dimmelsodo:

Dimmel tilts his head towards Srikit a little, to be heard more clearly without speaking louder.

“Right, and why did they tell you to stay away from the Keepers? Are they known for their violence? Their sudden outbursts? No, they just have an unexplained tendency to melt when someone tries to crack one open. It’s a rule to protect the Keepers, not you. I don’t intend to make myself at home in a nest, but it would be a useful waypAHH!”

The duct ends abruptly, and Dimmel plants his hand into open air. He braces his feet against the walls and tries to shift his weight back frantically, getting solid purchase after a few moment of mad scrabbling.

Heaving a sigh of relief that’s only a little shaky, he keeps a firm grip on the edge of the duct and carefully surveys the new area. It’s an open shaft, much like the one they came from. A ladder (with far too many rungs to be designed for salarian hands, but still usable) is built into the wall within arm’s reach, and there’s a narrow, railless catwalk circling the area. On the other side, there’s a duct that looks much like the one they’re in now.

“…hm.”

“Did a Keeper stab you?” Srikit muttered as a response to Dimmel’s sudden panic. Now that Dimmel had stopped advancing, it didn’t take long for Srikit to catch up to him.

“The fuck is it now?” Without waiting for an answer, Srikit squeezed himself between Dimmel and the wall of the duct. It was a tight fit, but now he was able to see the pit that had stopped Dimmel. He cursed and joined the other man in pondering their options.

Srikit banged experimentally on the catwalk to see if it would break. It didn’t, but he disliked how flimsy it felt. “No way this will hold. How long is the ladder?” Srikit tried to crane his neck in order to see where the ladder close to their duct was headed, but it proved to be impossible in the position he was currently in. His neck became tired quickly, and as he gave up and slumped back onto the floor, he ended up inhaling a considerable amount of dust. “Fuck!” It felt like none of the dust was coming back out no matter how violently he exhaled. Thankfully he was still able to breathe, although it was extremely uncomfortable.

“…Do we have to go back to the elevator?” His nostrils burned.

the height of prothean innovation (closed)

dimmelsodo:

srikit:

Srikit gets off his ass with a groan. By the time he’s reached the ladder, Dimmel has already disappeared inside the duct. Srikit can hear him moving forward, and accepts that he should hurry up too. As much as he despises this entire situation, having to crawl in the ducts alone sounds even worse, and not to mention dangerous. The ducts might be pitch-black, and if they were, Dimmel would make a nice safeguard against sudden falls. And whatever other potentially lethal things there were.

“Hey! Slow the fuck down,” Srikit calls after the other man as soon as he’s climbed the ladder high enough to see inside the duct. Apparently there are red emergency lights present inside the duct as well. That makes Srikit only slightly less worried about the near future. Dust invades his nostrils as he makes his ungraceful entry into the duct. “Ngh. Wait!”

It’s dim, and the dust is making ugly streaks all over his suit, but part of Dimmel is enjoying himself. No, not being trapped in an elevator, or missing his season finale, but it’s been a long time since he indulged in this sort of simple adventure, with nobody’s life on the line. He knows the value of a peaceful life, appreciates it in a way he never thought we would, but…vacations are nice.

Srikit clambers in after him, sounding panicked. Dimmel pauses, examining the interior in the meantime. The shaft is just large enough for him to sit up in; he could probably even turn around without too much trouble. Small red lights dot the edge of the ceiling like a landing strip leading into the darkness. The dust means that this place is hardly busy, but it’s not as filthy as he would have thought; it’s not years’ worth of buildup. But there is—ah. Leaning closer, he can make out long, clear line-like tracks, the kind of marks a Keeper might leave.

“Not that we have a lot of options now, but once the path branches we should be able to follow these,” he muses aloud.

Crawling is uncomfortable, but Dimmel settles into a kind of uneven shimmy to avoid putting undue pressure on his bad knee. Something about the lights up ahead looks strange. An intersection, perhaps.

Srikit has managed to close the distance between himself and Dimmel enough to be within comfortable conversation radius. The continuous noise caused by their crawling is almost enough to drown out Dimmel’s musings, but not quite.

“Are you insane? You want to run into a Keeper nest?” All the dust is starting to make Srikit’s nose and eyes itchy. He sniffs loudly. The pitch of his voice rises due to irateness. “How long have you been on this station? I got here a week ago and the first fucking thing they told us at the docks was to stay the fuck away from the Keepers.” 

Srikit doesn’t bother looking at Dimmel as he speaks to him, as he would only see his ass anyway. Instead he keeps his head down, which is probably a smart way to go about it in any case considering how low the duct’s ceiling is.

the height of prothean innovation (closed)

dimmelsodo:

srikit:

As he flops onto the roof of the elevator, Srikit decides he’s never escaping from an elevator again. His fingers hurt from having to grip so hard at the edge of the hatch. While he’s rubbing them, Dimmel emerges from the hatch along with a smartass remark which Srikit cannot be assed to reply to. Dimmel’s next comment, spawned by the nearby maintenance shaft, distracts Srikit from his own aching hands.

“…Star Trek?” He says.

Srikit’s focus shifts onto the duct, and he ponders again if this whole escape attempt is worth the trouble. Having to climb out of an elevator was enough physical activity for one day on its own. He knows the ducts are their only option if they wish to escape, but he doesn’t let that fact stop him from complaining about it.

“We don’t even know where that duct goes. Could be a keeper nest or an airlock or who the fuck knows.” Worst of all, it could be a dead end, and then they’d have to crawl all the way back and resume waiting, except this time they’d be sweaty and even more hungry and probably bruised and sore from their duct activities.

“Well. Human fiction is, ah. Rather novel, you know. Amazing what they used to believe.” Thankfully it’s too dim for Srikit to be able to make out his embarrassed expression; what were the odds he’d run into another salarian with a penchant for twentieth-century human entertainment?

“A keeper nest would actually be a good thing; we could follow one out. They’ve never been hostile. An airlock is unlikely—we’re near the middle of the station, not the edge. And that text is clearly a modern addition, not Prothean. People have been here, so it’s a safe bet the environment won’t change drastically without notice.” He stands, walking over to the ladder. “We’re between floors, so all we need to do is travel until we can go up or down. We’ll come out on 42 or 41.”

Dimmel starts climbing, then looks back over his shoulder. “You can stay if you want.”

Srikit gets off his ass with a groan. By the time he’s reached the ladder, Dimmel has already disappeared inside the duct. Srikit can hear him moving forward, and accepts that he should hurry up too. As much as he despises this entire situation, having to crawl in the ducts alone sounds even worse, and not to mention dangerous. The ducts might be pitch-black, and if they were, Dimmel would make a nice safeguard against sudden falls. And whatever other potentially lethal things there were.

“Hey! Slow the fuck down,” Srikit calls after the other man as soon as he’s climbed the ladder high enough to see inside the duct. Apparently there are red emergency lights present inside the duct as well. That makes Srikit only slightly less worried about the near future. Dust invades his nostrils as he makes his ungraceful entry into the duct. “Ngh. Wait!”

the height of prothean innovation (closed)

dimmelsodo:

srikit:

dimmelsodo:

Srikit is ignoring him, but that’s alright because Dimmel has found himself a project. The safety information wasn’t very helpful (it does tell him that the elevator is far past due for its safety inspection), but some careful pacing lets his eyes pick out the seams of the emergency escape hatch on the ceiling. Such things are typically mechanical rather that electronic to be able to function in case of power failure, so there’s no point trying to hack into anything with his omni-tool.

“Yes, I have to,” he says mildly. “I don’t feel like waiting around on the Keepers’ whim. You can stay here if you want.” He presses his back to the wall, plants his foot on the railing behind him, and pushes himself up. Gravity takes over and he immediately begins to fall forward, but he catches the handle of the hatch and hangs from it, twisting the release level with his other hand. The whole door falls off, and he lands neatly on the floor, holding it.

The door is thick enough to be useful as a stool, he notes, and he positions it on the ground beneath the escape. He looks at Srikit speculatively.

“You probably can’t do a pull-up, can you.” Sighing, he braces himself against the wall and threads his fingers together in a makeshift step.

Srikit’s head snaps up at the sudden noises Dimmel is making.

“Hey, the fuck are you—” Srikit instinctively scrambles to the side to get farther away from the other man who is apparently trying to thrash the entire elevator. It isn’t until Dimmel lands on the floor holding the detached door of the emergency hatch that Srikit realizes what the purpose of his acrobatics was.

“Are you kidding me.” Srikit blurts in disbelief when Dimmel offers to help him through the hatch in the ceiling. Despite his suspicions, he finds himself getting back onto his feet. At this point any plan that isn’t “wait and hope you don’t starve while waiting” sounds like a plan worth trying. That doesn’t mean that escaping into an elevator shaft sounds like a good plan, though. Srikit looks Dimmel in the eyes and scowls.

“If things go to hell, you’re taking the blame.” He places his foot on the other man’s palms and experimentally shifts some of his weight onto them, trying to acquire a good balance.

Dimmel shrugs noncommittally. “We’ll just have to avoid going to hell, then.” Srikit is clearly new to human salarian ladders; his weight shifts wildly with Dimmel’s every movement instead of pushing back, resulting in an awkward few minutes where Srikit’s foot just pushes Dimmel’s hands around in a circle.

“Alright, no, how about you just—keep your balance here and—” Dimmel brings Srikit’s hand to his shoulder and steadies himself, crouching and pushing Srikit up with his linked palms. He’s stronger than the average salarian, but the weight still makes him huff and there’s a hairy moment where he has to scramble to center himself before Srikit crushes him. As soon as the other man is high enough to cling to the edge with his arms, Dimmel shifts under him, avoiding flailing legs, and pushes his feet up the rest of the way.

Dimmel repeats his earlier trick, pulling himself up easily. “See? Simple.” He’s still wheezing a little, though. Salarians weren’t meant to be on the bottom of the gymnastics pyramid.

He takes stock. The emergency lights are still on up the whole shaft, climbing next to the ladder. They’d been between floors, near the bottom of the Presidium. On the wall, FLOOR 42 is written several meters above them, and next to it, there’s a maintenance shaft that looks large enough to crawl through. It should be accessible from the ladder.

“No matter where you are, Jeffries Tubes are a miracle of the universe,” he mutters wryly, pointing to the duct.

As he flops onto the roof of the elevator, Srikit decides he’s never escaping from an elevator again. His fingers hurt from having to grip so hard at the edge of the hatch. While he’s rubbing them, Dimmel emerges from the hatch along with a smartass remark which Srikit cannot be assed to reply to. Dimmel’s next comment, spawned by the nearby maintenance shaft, distracts Srikit from his own aching hands.

“…Star Trek?” He says.

Srikit’s focus shifts onto the duct, and he ponders again if this whole escape attempt is worth the trouble. Having to climb out of an elevator was enough physical activity for one day on its own. He knows the ducts are their only option if they wish to escape, but he doesn’t let that fact stop him from complaining about it.

“We don’t even know where that duct goes. Could be a keeper nest or an airlock or who the fuck knows.” Worst of all, it could be a dead end, and then they’d have to crawl all the way back and resume waiting, except this time they’d be sweaty and even more hungry and probably bruised and sore from their duct activities.

the height of prothean innovation (closed)

dimmelsodo:

srikit:

Having calmed down a bit, Srikit finds the energy to lift his head from knees, and proceeds to lean it against the wall behind him instead. Surprisingly, the stranger introduces himself using only his first name, instead of tiring Srikit’s ears with an entire clan history. This suits Srikit just fine.

“Srikit.”

Dimmel’s next question barely registers in Srikit’s brain. He’d thought he’d made it clear that he was not in the mood for pointless chitchat, but apparently Dimmel was too thickheaded to get a hint. Srikit looks at Dimmel incredulously, inhales deeply and prepares himself for saying something subtly insulting in response, but after a few seconds of blank staring he realizes that his brain isn’t going to come up with anything. So he simply lowers his eyes as dismissively as he can. Good enough. Better, actually. No way Dimmel could have missed that point.

But of course, after a few blissful seconds of silence Dimmel continues to walk about and make noise. It’s not much, but it’s definitely enough to be irritating.

“Do you have to? You couldn’t possibly just stay the fuck still and be quiet?”

Srikit is ignoring him, but that’s alright because Dimmel has found himself a project. The safety information wasn’t very helpful (it does tell him that the elevator is far past due for its safety inspection), but some careful pacing lets his eyes pick out the seams of the emergency escape hatch on the ceiling. Such things are typically mechanical rather that electronic to be able to function in case of power failure, so there’s no point trying to hack into anything with his omni-tool.

“Yes, I have to,” he says mildly. “I don’t feel like waiting around on the Keepers’ whim. You can stay here if you want.” He presses his back to the wall, plants his foot on the railing behind him, and pushes himself up. Gravity takes over and he immediately begins to fall forward, but he catches the handle of the hatch and hangs from it, twisting the release level with his other hand. The whole door falls off, and he lands neatly on the floor, holding it.

The door is thick enough to be useful as a stool, he notes, and he positions it on the ground beneath the escape. He looks at Srikit speculatively.

“You probably can’t do a pull-up, can you.” Sighing, he braces himself against the wall and threads his fingers together in a makeshift step.

Srikit’s head snaps up at the sudden noises Dimmel is making.

“Hey, the fuck are you—” Srikit instinctively scrambles to the side to get farther away from the other man who is apparently trying to thrash the entire elevator. It isn’t until Dimmel lands on the floor holding the detached door of the emergency hatch that Srikit realizes what the purpose of his acrobatics was.

“Are you kidding me.” Srikit blurts in disbelief when Dimmel offers to help him through the hatch in the ceiling. Despite his suspicions, he finds himself getting back onto his feet. At this point any plan that isn’t “wait and hope you don’t starve while waiting” sounds like a plan worth trying. That doesn’t mean that escaping into an elevator shaft sounds like a good plan, though. Srikit looks Dimmel in the eyes and scowls.

“If things go to hell, you’re taking the blame.” He places his foot on the other man’s palms and experimentally shifts some of his weight onto them, trying to acquire a good balance.

the height of prothean innovation (closed)

dimmelsodo:

srikit:

dimmelsodo:

Dimmel scowls. Maybe the stranger hadn’t meant for him to hear that, but he doesn’t take kindly to being told off by a great useless lump. “Well, excuse me for being unhappy about being trapped in a closet for half a day because C-Sec doesn’t have the spine to interrupt their precious bugs.” Still, he should probably stop letting his temper get the better of him.

When the man grabs his shoulder, Dimmel expects something grave to come out of his mouth, like “I’m having a heart attack” or “This elevator has no air circulation”. Instead—“Food? You’re worried about food? You certainly won’t be starving to death any time soon. Where would I even be carrying any? You see a Fishdog Food Factory bag anywhere?”

He steps away, activating his omni-tool. “There’s not even any extranet signal in here. Unbelievable…you heard the operator. All we can do is wait,” he spits. He eyes the floor speculatively, then shudders in disgust, decisively planting himself against the wall and crossing his arms. His fingers drum out an agitated beat.

“Yeah, I do think food is more important than your fucking work e-mail or whatever! You have some fucked up priorities yourself.” Srikit turns around and returns to what he considers his wall, having decided that paying attention to this guy was a waste of energy.

Gravity pulls him into a sitting position. His head finds his knees, and his eyes close. It’s the first time in years he has been without a job, and apparently he’s spending all this precious free time by running pointless errands and being stuck in an elevator with some loud neurotic. He quickly forgets he was supposed to be ignoring the other man.

“You’re just like my old boss.” he mumbles into his knees.

“I’m not checking my e-mail, I was—tch.” Dimmel cuts himself off as he realizes ‘going to find something to watch’ would be an embarrassing way to end that sentence.

“If we’re going to be forced to enjoy one another’s company for the next several hours, we can at least be civil. My name is Dimmel. What’s yours?” It is an introduction stiffer than a turian spine, and he flounders for something to say. “You get stuck in a lot of elevators with your old boss?”

No, no, this is completely untenable. Six-plus hours of awkward small talk and growling stomachs (because now that he’s thinking about it, he’d postponed his usual supper to get home in time, and some Fishdog Food Factory would really hit the spot right about now)? He’d rather hold a line against a herd of charging Blood Pack krogan.

Stepping away from the wall, Dimmel starts to examine the elevator safety information—capacity, route, last inspection—in earnest. Always read the manual.

Having calmed down a bit, Srikit finds the energy to lift his head from knees, and proceeds to lean it against the wall behind him instead. Surprisingly, the stranger introduces himself using only his first name, instead of tiring Srikit’s ears with an entire clan history. This suits Srikit just fine.

“Srikit.”

Dimmel’s next question barely registers in Srikit’s brain. He’d thought he’d made it clear that he was not in the mood for pointless chitchat, but apparently Dimmel was too thickheaded to get a hint. Srikit looks at Dimmel incredulously, inhales deeply and prepares himself for saying something subtly insulting in response, but after a few seconds of blank staring he realizes that his brain isn’t going to come up with anything. So he simply lowers his eyes as dismissively as he can. Good enough. Better, actually. No way Dimmel could have missed that point.

But of course, after a few blissful seconds of silence Dimmel continues to walk about and make noise. It’s not much, but it’s definitely enough to be irritating.

“Do you have to? You couldn’t possibly just stay the fuck still and be quiet?”

the height of prothean innovation (closed)

dimmelsodo:

srikit:

dimmelsodo:

As if in answer, the call box crackles to life. “Yes, can I help you?” asks a solicitous voice. Oh gods, they’re not even aware it’s happened?

Dimmel rattles off the ID number printed on the wall. “—on the Wards, it’s stopped and the lights are off.” There’s a long, long pause.

“Are you still there?” he snaps.

“Yes, sir, that’s very unfortunate, but, ahh—there are a number of Keepers doing maintenance in the shaft. They appear to have activated the emergency stop remotely.”

“Well, un-activate it!”

“Ah, that’s the problem, sir. There’s a lag hardwired into the emergency stop. It won’t reactivate for several hours.”

“Hours?! Why the hell would you schedule that kind of maintenance in the middle of the day?”

“We, ah, didn’t. The Keepers decided—”

“Is this station run by the Council or a bunch of bugs!?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but C-Sec is doing all it can the fix your elevator—”

“You mean nothing?”

“—if there is an emergency the red button may be used to contact a Citadel Security operator directly thank you.” The operator finishes in a rush and the box goes silent.

“Why, you useless—!” Dimmel slams his hand next to the box, then spins on his heel and kicks the wall. “I can’t believe I started paying taxes for this!”

This can’t be happening. This kind of shit only happens in predictable tv shows when the writers have obviously run out of ideas. Srikit rubs his neck, sore from all the pointless standing around he’s been through today. The fucker on the other side of the elevator just won’t stop making noise and it’s seriously getting on his nerves, as if they weren’t strained enough yet.

“Just shut the fuck up already.” Srikit forces the words through his teeth, digging his nails into his own palms. He’s not going to start screaming like this idiot with no self-control. He’s not going to punch the idiot either. He’ll stay calm and assess the severity of this situation. He inhales, and grabs the stranger’s shoulder in order to get his attention.

“You got any food?”

Dimmel scowls. Maybe the stranger hadn’t meant for him to hear that, but he doesn’t take kindly to being told off by a great useless lump. “Well, excuse me for being unhappy about being trapped in a closet for half a day because C-Sec doesn’t have the spine to interrupt their precious bugs.” Still, he should probably stop letting his temper get the better of him.

When the man grabs his shoulder, Dimmel expects something grave to come out of his mouth, like “I’m having a heart attack” or “This elevator has no air circulation”. Instead—“Food? You’re worried about food? You certainly won’t be starving to death any time soon. Where would I even be carrying any? You see a Fishdog Food Factory bag anywhere?”

He steps away, activating his omni-tool. “There’s not even any extranet signal in here. Unbelievable…you heard the operator. All we can do is wait,” he spits. He eyes the floor speculatively, then shudders in disgust, decisively planting himself against the wall and crossing his arms. His fingers drum out an agitated beat.

“Yeah, I do think food is more important than your fucking work e-mail or whatever! You have some fucked up priorities yourself.” Srikit turns around and returns to what he considers his wall, having decided that paying attention to this guy was a waste of energy.

Gravity pulls him into a sitting position. His head finds his knees, and his eyes close. It’s the first time in years he has been without a job, and apparently he’s spending all this precious free time by running pointless errands and being stuck in an elevator with some loud neurotic. He quickly forgets he was supposed to be ignoring the other man.

“You’re just like my old boss.” he mumbles into his knees.

the height of prothean innovation (closed)

dimmelsodo:

srikit:

dimmelsodo:

Dimmel barely keeps himself from swearing as the elevator stops and lets on a fat salarian. The other man grunts, presumably from the effort of hauling his enormous bulk around. The atmosphere is awkward, but Dimmel just ignores him as hard as he can and keeps his eyes fixed on the scrolling destinations above the doors, bouncing his foot. How long has it been, five minutes? With some undignified sprinting he can probably get to his building fast enough, and at least the elevators in there are—

Suddenly the elevator rumbles, then shudders. Dimmel puts a hand on the door to steady himself as metal grinds and shrieks, and the lights go off.

Red emergency lights flicker on, and he doesn’t stop himself from swearing now.

The holographic display is down, and he almost punches the old-fashioned EMERGENCY CALL button in the corner. Waiting for the operator to respond, he remembers there’s another person present.

“You alright?” he calls to the stranger.

As the elevator screeches into a stop, Srikit decides he’s just about done with this entire day. Lying down on the elevator’s floor and screaming might soon be the only thing he’s capable of. Never expect things to go as planned, never expect other people to do their job. Keep a snack bar or seven on your body at all times.

A questioning voice brings Srikit back to reality. The only response he can muster ends up being some kind of a growl. That’s it. He rests his forehead against the wall and closes his eyes for a few seconds. The frustration clouding his mind subsides enough for him to notice just how quiet it is. Is anything being done? He opens his eyes and pushes himself away from the wall, feeling a brief dizziness.

“How long does it usually take for them to get their shit together?” He asks after steadying himself and crosses the room to join the other man in front of the control panel.

As if in answer, the call box crackles to life. “Yes, can I help you?” asks a solicitous voice. Oh gods, they’re not even aware it’s happened?

Dimmel rattles off the ID number printed on the wall. “—on the Wards, it’s stopped and the lights are off.” There’s a long, long pause.

“Are you still there?” he snaps.

“Yes, sir, that’s very unfortunate, but, ahh—there are a number of Keepers doing maintenance in the shaft. They appear to have activated the emergency stop remotely.”

“Well, un-activate it!”

“Ah, that’s the problem, sir. There’s a lag hardwired into the emergency stop. It won’t reactivate for several hours.”

“Hours?! Why the hell would you schedule that kind of maintenance in the middle of the day?”

“We, ah, didn’t. The Keepers decided—”

“Is this station run by the Council or a bunch of bugs!?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but C-Sec is doing all it can the fix your elevator—”

“You mean nothing?”

“—if there is an emergency the red button may be used to contact a Citadel Security operator directly thank you.” The operator finishes in a rush and the box goes silent.

“Why, you useless—!” Dimmel slams his hand next to the box, then spins on his heel and kicks the wall. “I can’t believe I started paying taxes for this!”

This can’t be happening. This kind of shit only happens in predictable tv shows when the writers have obviously run out of ideas. Srikit rubs his neck, sore from all the pointless standing around he’s been through today. The fucker on the other side of the elevator just won’t stop making noise and it’s seriously getting on his nerves, as if they weren’t strained enough yet.

“Just shut the fuck up already.” Srikit forces the words through his teeth, digging his nails into his own palms. He’s not going to start screaming like this idiot with no self-control. He’s not going to punch the idiot either. He’ll stay calm and assess the severity of this situation. He inhales, and grabs the stranger’s shoulder in order to get his attention.

“You got any food?”

the height of prothean innovation (closed)

dimmelsodo:

srikit:

dimmelsodo:

Dimmel checks the time on his omni-tool as he mashes the elevator call button. He knows it won’t make it come any faster, but it makes him feel a little less anxious. He’d lost track of time in the lab—again—and if he didn’t get to his apartment on the Presidium in ten minutes he’d miss the start of Krantt and Capability’s season finale. There was always the extranet, but he hated being behind on the liveblogging.

The elevator finally arrives, and he eagerly hops inside. Only a few seconds after choosing his destination he starts tapping his foot impatiently.

Srikit makes his way towards the elevators, bumping into a human half purposefully. Next week, they’d said. He’d get his electricity next fucking week. He’d spent all day hunting down someone who’d be willing to do something, and ‘next week’ was the best thing they could give him. He calls for an elevator. At least he’s only one trip to the store away from getting to go home and eat. And proceed to not watch any movies or play any games. He grimaces.

The doors open. Srikit hauls himself inside, positioning himself against a wall far away from the fancy-pants salarian already occupying the elevator, and doesn’t bother suppressing the small grunt of disgust that escapes him. It’s probably loud enough for the other salarian to hear, but Srikit is in far too bad a mood to care if he ruins some tightass corporate shill’s day. As the elevator begins to move, Srikit entertains himself by imagining how badly the red-skinned businessman’s composure would crumble if his ridiculous shiny shoes were spat on during an elevator ride.

Dimmel barely keeps himself from swearing as the elevator stops and lets on a fat salarian. The other man grunts, presumably from the effort of hauling his enormous bulk around. The atmosphere is awkward, but Dimmel just ignores him as hard as he can and keeps his eyes fixed on the scrolling destinations above the doors, bouncing his foot. How long has it been, five minutes? With some undignified sprinting he can probably get to his building fast enough, and at least the elevators in there are—

Suddenly the elevator rumbles, then shudders. Dimmel puts a hand on the door to steady himself as metal grinds and shrieks, and the lights go off.

Red emergency lights flicker on, and he doesn’t stop himself from swearing now.

The holographic display is down, and he almost punches the old-fashioned EMERGENCY CALL button in the corner. Waiting for the operator to respond, he remembers there’s another person present.

“You alright?” he calls to the stranger.

As the elevator screeches into a stop, Srikit decides he’s just about done with this entire day. Lying down on the elevator’s floor and screaming might soon be the only thing he’s capable of. Never expect things to go as planned, never expect other people to do their job. Keep a snack bar or seven on your body at all times.

A questioning voice brings Srikit back to reality. The only response he can muster ends up being some kind of a growl. That’s it. He rests his forehead against the wall and closes his eyes for a few seconds. The frustration clouding his mind subsides enough for him to notice just how quiet it is. Is anything being done? He opens his eyes and pushes himself away from the wall, feeling a brief dizziness.

“How long does it usually take for them to get their shit together?” He asks after steadying himself and crosses the room to join the other man in front of the control panel.

the height of prothean innovation (closed)

dimmelsodo:

Dimmel checks the time on his omni-tool as he mashes the elevator call button. He knows it won’t make it come any faster, but it makes him feel a little less anxious. He’d lost track of time in the lab—again—and if he didn’t get to his apartment on the Presidium in ten minutes he’d miss the start of Krantt and Capability’s season finale. There was always the extranet, but he hated being behind on the liveblogging.

The elevator finally arrives, and he eagerly hops inside. Only a few seconds after choosing his destination he starts tapping his foot impatiently.

Srikit makes his way towards the elevators, bumping into a human half purposefully. Next week, they’d said. He’d get his electricity next fucking week. He’d spent all day hunting down someone who’d be willing to do something, and ‘next week’ was the best thing they could give him. He calls for an elevator. At least he’s only one trip to the store away from getting to go home and eat. And proceed to not watch any movies or play any games. He grimaces.

The doors open. Srikit hauls himself inside, positioning himself against a wall far away from the fancy-pants salarian already occupying the elevator, and doesn’t bother suppressing the small grunt of disgust that escapes him. It’s probably loud enough for the other salarian to hear, but Srikit is in far too bad a mood to care if he ruins some tightass corporate shill’s day. As the elevator begins to move, Srikit entertains himself by imagining how badly the red-skinned businessman’s composure would crumble if his ridiculous shiny shoes were spat on during an elevator ride.