Ryncol

mass effect dad headcanons
  • Kaidan: cheers you on at every soccer game even though you’re horrible at it “You got this, champ!” loves to barbecue and can always tell when something’s wrong “You okay, bud?” Still wears the #1 dad t-shirt you made for him when you were little.
  • Garrus: Comes off as relaxed and let’s you go to that shady party but when you get back you have (84) missed calls from Dad and he’s pacing in the living room. Doesn’t know how to cook so just orders takeout. “Well, you’re still alive so I guess I did pretty well”
  • Mordin: “Breakfast is most important meal. Triggers metabolism and gives energy!” Only showed you educational kids shows and builds your model volcano for you. Sings in the car even though ugh dad you’re embarrassing me.
  • Anderson: “I’m not your friend, I’m your father” but actually adores you more than anything in the galaxy. Took the day off work then stayed up with you all night when you got food poisoning. The day he tells you he’s proud of you is the best you’ve ever felt in your life.
  • Wrex: let's you take a sip of ryncol and laughs when you start gagging. Says "Whatever" and uses guilt as his primary tactic. Always gives you piggy back rides and weirdly specific life advice.
  • Joker: Dad jokes. Too many dad jokes. Let you watch a horror movie that gave you nightmares for weeks. "If I can do it, you can." Made sure you aced your driving exam and took you out for ice cream after.
  • Zaeed: Tries to watch his language but it usually ends up sounding like "Well sh... shucks" All your friends think he's really cool but he always asks things like "what in the shitting hell is a me-me"
  • Thane: Crazy dance!! Always knows what to say when you're upset. Remembers the small things like what toppings you like on yogurt and makes sure your favorite shirt is always clean. "I want you to be happy in life."
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stream results!

I really wish that Lucio’s skins did more with the music theme, and I remember @ryncol talking about a conductor!Lucio a while ago, so Maestro/Virtuoso are my ideas for a skin based on classical music!

the road-dog skin is courtesy of a friend and also some questionable google image searches….I went for more of a ‘traditional’ biker theme by giving him combat boots and a leather jacket, while also obviously bringing in the dog theme through the hook chain (leash), muzzle mask and the collar-belt. 

next up will probably be aerobics Lucio and mermaid Widow :o3c

Mass Effect has become more than a franchise, more than a universe constructed of text and pixels, storyboards and code. For players and fans, it’s become something imprinted. Traversing the galaxy, vicariously experiencing the story of a soldier, battlemaster, inept dancer, and unintentional killer of fish, witnessing the triumphs and heartaches of the Normandy crew - all of it has left small subtle scars and lines of wear, evidence of the gauntlet walked and of memories that are often bitter, but oh so deeply sweet.

We’ve been allowed to follow the hero’s journey - to spend numerous hours immersed in the story, becoming familiar with its peoples, with its beauties and harshness, facing ethical dilemas, and in some instances, learning about ourselves and becoming comfortable with our own identity. And the thrill we receive from following the hero is so often the fuel that pushes us to overcome the obstacles and challenges presented in our day-to-day lives.

But what should be noted is that for all that the N7 brand signifies, much of the excitement and empowerment, the inspiration, comes from the collective community - from individuals around the globe who have come together in one manner or another to exchange stories, showcase interpretations in art, fiction, and meta, and simply share the common affection for that whirl and roar of a mass relay.

And there’s joy in that - in being part of all that Mass Effect is and has become.

So when we raise a glass (of Ryncol, of Serrice Ice Brandy, of whatever the beverage of choice happens to be) to Shepard and all the galaxy’s finest, let’s give a nod and a toast to those who contributed in the creation of that universe,… and to one another - for the mutual journey, for the great ride that continues on.

Happy N7 Day. Keelah se’lai.

I love how the Nexus docking Bay came with a fully stocked bar but not a single place to obtain food. Hi, welcome to the Nexus and we hope you enjoyed your 600 year nap aboard the *insert ark name here* while it made the journey to Andromeda. If you are feeling remorse for leaving behind everything you’ve ever known and are having trouble coping with reality please head over to Vortex where we will happily supply you with a free complimentary shot of ryncol.

Thank you for joining the Initiative.

Headcanon Wednesday: Multispecies Drinking Vessels

Or: So Why Does Everyone Drink Out Of Those Tube Things?

Everyone knows that certain drinks are just made for certain drinking vessels. Under most circumstances Kaidan’s Canadian lager would be served in the bottle or, for preference, in a pint glass; Kasumi’s pink martini in a martini glass; Chakwas’ stiff morning tea in a mug—and her brandy in a snifter. This is no less true for nonhumans: Liara drinks shaline—the mildly stimulant beverage she developed a taste for while studying at the university of Serrice—from its traditional wide shallow bowl, and tiru, a sweet liqueur, from a narrow flower-shaped cup. And for preference Grunt drinks his ryncol from a ladle-shaped vessel traditionally made from the polished shoulderplate of the chitinous urmox (although, since the urmox is nearly extinct, most modern ryncol cups are made from plastics). (The fact that the ladle-cup’s design makes it impossible either to set it down or to pass it around without spilling means that a serving of ryncol must be tossed back in a single huge gulp… which, as anyone will tell you, is the only way to drink ryncol anyway.)

But if you go to a multispecies bar, pub, cafe, restaurant, or other watering hole, you’re unlikely to see this variety of drinkware. Instead, whether you buy water or beer or tea or a margarita or shaline or tiru or ryncol or something else entirely, it’ll probably come to you in the same container: a long, narrow, transparent cylinder, capped on both ends. This is true on multispecies settlements such as the Citadel, Omega, and Ilium, as well as in the business and tourist districts of single-species homeworlds and colonies—basically, anywhere that might have any appreciable multispecies traffic. In all these places, chances are good that your drink, whatever it is, will be served to you in a tube.

Why?

The short answer: because turians don’t have lips.

The longer answer:

Until turians joined the Citadel Council in the 700s CE, asari glassware tended to dominate multispecies eating places. Asari were culturally extremely inflential—still are, as far as that goes—and, more to the point, there was no reason their drinking vessels couldn’t be used by other species. Salarians have mouths compatible with asari glasses and bowls, as do batarians, quarians, and krogans; elcor can drink from asari drinkware as well with the simple addition of a straw. While there are culturally-specific bowls and glasses, anyone with lips can use an asari glass if that’s all that’s available, and so, due to the cultural influence of Citadel culture, asari drinkware became the default.

But then turians joined the Citadel races—and, in fairly short order thanks to the Krogan Rebellions, joined the Council. And turians don’t have lips; moreover, their facial plates don’t even close completely at the back. While their mandibles shield their teeth from view, they don’t actually create a watertight seal. If a turian attempts to drink out of the cups or bowls used by other species, the liquid will tend to spill out between their teeth—wasting the drink and making a giant mess. (A turian drinking very carefully indeed can drink out of a standard human, asari, or salarian glass or bowl… but who going to the bar for a pint is drinking that carefully?)

On their own homeworld, turians developed two types of drinking vessels. The most formal is a wide, deep bowl, almost a basin, in which a turian submerges their mouth deeply enough to be able to drink without worrying about spillage at the sides. (Since turian plates are water-resistant, a turian doesn’t have to worry about the drink staining their faces.) This is mostly used in ritual occasions and banquets. The more convenient daily-use turian drinking vessel is a narrow tube, which can be pushed back far enough in the mouth that liquid can’t splash out the edges or between their teeth. (Because the turian equivalents of trachea and esopahgus are more separated than in, say, humans, the risk of choking from drinking in this fashion are very low.) Most turian drinks, both mass-produced and drunk casually in homes and workplaces, are served in these long, narrow tubes. Commercial drinks are sold pre-packaged in the same tubes, capped and sealed on both ends.

During the Krogan Rebellions, turians swiftly (and with the enthusiastic blessing of asari and salarians) took over Citadel military and police forces; since turians can’t drink standard asari or salarian drinking bottles or other vessels, but asari and salarians can drink out of turian drink tubes, the standard water ration was quickly switched to mass-produced drink tubes for convenience.

When the turians became the third Council race, use of turian drinking tubes spread even farther. Being a Council race confers a certain status, and increasing numbers of places will try to accommodate species with that status. Bars and restaurants willing to keep multiple specialized types of drinkware for various species and types of drinks added turian drinking tubes to their inventories. Bars and restaurants that didn’t want to bother slowly began to outright replace their existing drinkware with the tubes. After all, other species could easily drink out of those tubes, and it was the only thing that turians could reliably drink out of, so the most efficient thing was to serve everything in the tubes. Over time, the turian drinking tubes became more and more common. By the present time, they are ubiquitous: unless a bar is the kind of place to keep dozens of kinds of glasses for each possible drink, chances are good you’ll get your drink in a tube.

(Matriarch Aethyta can wax eloquent on this topic if you ask her. She still keeps a small stock of specialized glassware for asari tiru and iaen, salarian din’dha and mel, batarian kha, and krogan ryncol… but she only uses them if someone asks, which almost never happens; otherwise she uses the tubes. Hell, somewhere in the back of her cabinet is the thin, elegant blown-glass flute used for quarian xaenor, and god knows no quarian could drink from that glass now even if they wanted to, what with the face mask and all. But she had a quarian friend back in the day, and she can’t quite bring herself to throw it out. She pours everything into the standard tubes now, unless asked, but she won’t pretend that there isn’t something lost.)

Prepackaged commercial beverages now generally come bottled directly in the tubes, stored in heating or cooling units to keep each tube at the exact proper serving temperature. Barristas brewing fresh shaline, tea, or coffee will pour it into a tube unless asked otherwise—and bartenders serving a cocktail will shake it up right in the tube in which they intend to serve it. Asari sip the tubes; salarians use their long tongues to slurp out the content; young krogans with something to prove crunch the whole thing up (the biodegradable shell might cause them mild digestive discomfort but won’t hurt them). Quarian sterilizers and suit intakes are standardized to accommodate the common sizes of turian drink tubes. Humans new to the galactic scene teach themselves to sip a drink tube as if it were natural, and feel very cosmopolitan when they manage. And turians—who invented the tubes by necessity—knock the drinks back with practiced ease.

“Nonono,” Kaidan says, leaning forward and gesturing with his rum and coke, nearly spilling it all over all over the floor of Shepard’s new Citadel apartment, “Or - yes, I - you know what I mean, Vega.”

“I know you’re a lightweight, Alenko,” James snorts and Kaidan shakes his head.

“No! It’s the biotic metabolism, I’ll be sober again in ten minutes.”

Jacob and Liara agree immediately - the biotic defence squad in full force - and when Shepard agrees too, James looks betrayed.

“You’re not a lightweight, Commander.”

“Cerberus implants,” Shepard says with a shrug. “But without them, I would be. Kaidan’s right.”

“You’re just sticking up for him ‘cause he’s your boyfriend,” James says, but he’s smiling, and he ends the sentence on a sing-song note and makes a hand-heart at them.

“Yep,” Shepard says, putting his arm around Kaidan’s waist and kissing his temple. Kaidan gives him a bright and tipsy smile, so Shepard kisses his lips, too, before grinning at James. “Sorry, James. On the clock, it’s my job to be impartial but off the clock is a different matter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” James says, and huffs before looking at Shepard with a slowly growing grin. “You know, I heard Esteban and Joker talking about doing shots earlier.”

“And?”

“And it’s giving me ideas. You and me, mano a mano. Try out those Cerberus implants.”

Shepard glances at Jacob, sees him smirking - he was with Shepard when he drank ryncol, which, honestly, wasn’t one of his proudest moments. He knows he could take James on without breaking a sweat, but even off the clock he probably shouldn’t be encouraging this sort of thing.

James folds his arms, cocks his head. “Unless it’s all just bluster, Commander.”

“You’re on,” Shepard says immediately, never able to turn down a challenge, and James claps him on the back.

Ten minutes, a rapidly decreasing amount of bravado and six shots of rum later, James waves a hand in defeat, saying shoulda done tequila, I’da won with tequila, before collapsing on the sofa with a groan. Shepard, feeling happily drunk, smiles at Kaidan, who shakes his head.

“I did it for you,” Shepard tells him. “Defending your honour.”

Kaidan snorts and sidles up to him, grabbing the next shot of rum on the counter and sipping at it, making a face before knocking it back. “Defending my honour with rum shots?”

“Better than the other kind of shots.”

Shaking his head, Kaidan kisses him. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, not for the first time and it won’t be the last.

Hitching a thumb over his shoulder at the makeshift dance floor, Shepard says, “How about we be ridiculous together?”

Kaidan laughs, and nods, and they walk over hand-in-hand.

+++

(Got an mshenko ficlet prompt? Send it in!)

(Other mshenko ficlets)

bardofheartdive  asked:

There is a tiny scene in Sea and Sky where Kaidan and Wrex are getting ready to go to the casino and Wrex starts teasing Kaidan about what his pet name for Shepard is and Kaidan's like "Mostly I just call him Ben." And Wrex laughs hysterically about how sickeningly cute that is and he can just imagine how sacchirinely adorable a "ben" must be until Kaidan explains that it's just Shepard's first name. It still makes me laugh when I think about it.

Oh man, I’m glad you like this scene. I like the idea that literally nobody knows Shepard’s first name. Or that he has a first name at all.

++

Kaidan guffawed so hard he thought bourbon was going to shoot out of his nose.

“What?” Wrex folded his arms. The beat of the music in the renovated Chora’s Den tended to drown out the lower ranges of a Krogan’s voice. With every drink, it had become funnier and funnier to Kaidan hearing Wrex having to talk twice as loud to be heard.

“Just, uh, thinking about how you didn’t know Shepard’s first name.” A quiet tenor that cut through the throbbing bassline.

“You really still on that?” Wrex shouted, breath stinging with ryncol.

“You thought ‘Ban’ was a pet name,” Kaidan snickered.

“Can you blame me? You humans and your mating rituals. Makes the turians look cold.”

“You’ve known him for years!” Kaidan made eye contact with the bartender, who worked her way over. “You stood next to me at the memorial service. There was a plaque for god’s sake.”

“Yeah, written in human-language. No,” Wrex slapped his hand down on the bar, startling the bartender. “His next drinks on me. Make it a Quad-Kicker.”

“What?” The bartender leaned in.

Get him a quad-kicker,” Wrex shouted.

“On your tab, or what?”

Wrex balled up his fist, but continued to yell.

Yes. Quad-kicker. Put it on my tab.”

Kaidan had his head in his hands, laughing.

“Anyway,” Wrex turned back to Kaidan, voice still booming. “Two of you were always so sickeningly sweet, wouldn’t be surprised if they put yer pet-name for him on the tombstone.”

Kaidan burst out laughing.

“’Here lies Snookums Shepard.’”

“’He Went Out Fighting: Drukajak Shepard.’”

“’Rest In Peace, Hot-Stuff Shepard’”

“’Forever In Memory, Little Kifrig Shepard’”

“’Commander Graham-Cracker-Lips Shepard.’”

“’Sprug-White Shepard.’”

“’Bone-Hardening-Weave Shepard.’”

“’Shepard the Gruklakblat.’”

Kaidan blinked.

“You made that last one up.”

“Like you’d know, kid.”

By now, the wasted krogan was yelling so loud his pet-name epitaphs were drawing stares form across the bar. Kaidan was too inebriated himself to care, but also too inebriated to be able to think of any more pet-names.

“All fun and games thinking about his tombstone now that he’s back. It’s no good anyway,” Kaidan sniffed at the strange drink the bartender had set down in front of him. “I don’t have a pet-name for him.”

“Give it time.”

“I’ll drink to that!”

After-Party

Pairing: pre-F!Ryder x Liam
Rating: R for language
Summary: Grace is severely hungover after Sloane’s party. Lexi greatly disapproves, but manages to squeeze some good trolling in.


“I’m gonna die.”

“The theatrics are hardly warranted, Ryder,” Lexi said briskly as she adjusted the flow of the saline drip she’d just attached to Grace’s arm.

Actually looking at Lexi would have required lifting her pounding head from the clammy cradle of her palms–a surer recipe for vomit there was not–but Grace knew that tone. Lexi was totally making her judgey doctor face.

Well, fuck her.

Except not really, because Lexi was the Curer of Hangovers, and this morning she was the only thing standing between Grace and a day spent hugging the toilet bowl and praying for the sweet release of death. So Lexi was pretty great, actually, judgey doctor face or no.

Fuck Reyes, though. Umi, too.

The med bay whooshed open–had the doors on this ship always been so loud?–and Grace groaned. “Unless you have a bloody mary in your hand, you shall not fucking pass.”

“Aww, c’mon Ryder. The lack of tomato juice isn’t my fault.”

Grace jerked her head up at the sound of Liam’s voice, immediately regretting it as the room spun and her guts roiled. She inhaled sharply through her nose, willing herself not to throw up. Liam shot her a smile that could have powered entire solar systems, and her heart fluttered frantically as blood rushed to her cheeks.

“How you doing, champ?” he asked.

“Reyes is not my friend.”

“She’ll be fine,” Lexi said, pressing a waste bin into Grace’s hands because she was apparently fucking psychic, because of course she was. “Having hopefully learned an important lesson about chasing ryncol with half a bottle of whiskey.”

Liam chuckled. “What, and she’s still standing? You’re a badass, Ryder.”

Grace grinned weakly, not totally sure if her lightheadedness had more to do with the hangover or his eyes. “It wasn’t my best night. But I also didn’t fuck anyone, so y’know, that was a new and exciting chapter in The Adventures of Drunk Grace.”

Bitch, did you actually just say that out loud?

Liam threw his head back and laughed. “Well, feel better. Loads more pathfinding to do.” He threw her another of those smiles and disappeared with a second whoosh of the med bay door.

“Dr. T’Perro,” came SAM’s voice as the door slid closed, “I have been reading a number of anomalies in the Pathfinder’s vital signs. It would perhaps be beneficial to perform a scan to rule out an underlying condition.”

Lexi pursed her lips. “There’s no underlying condition, SAM. Ryder’s just extremely hungover.” She shot Grace a sidelong glance, her expression turning almost sly. “And in love.”

Grace’s cheeks burned. “Hey, do I go around telling everyone your business?” she demanded.

And promptly threw up.

Scott Ryder Topic: Food

ORI PLEASE. Also look at you, my first answered ask.

When it comes to space food, not sure what his favorite is because I dont know all of the available foods in space or even the Heleus cluster, but theres a few things to note: 

  1. Scott is not picky and is an adventurous eater. If it is edible, he’s probably tried it. No he does not lick rocks, rocks are not edible.
  2. This includes shit he shouldn’t be eating. I dont know how he downs it, he’s a human garbage disposer.
  3. He’s tried graxen, which was a bad idea. 4/10 on the Ryder scale.
  4. He’s also downed tavum, that angaran alcoholic beverage, and that was a pretty great idea. Not bad, 7/10.
  5. He loves Drack’s cooking, even if he doesnt know wtf he’s eating. 11/10, sometimes to the disgust of the other Tempest crew members and and Drack’s utter amusement.
  6. He’s tried to get Drack to sneak him some ryncol but Drack constantly replies with ‘You’ve died enough for one lifetime, kid. I won’t be the reason you go again.’

Other than space food, Scott’s favorite dish is his grandmother’s spicy curry recipe. Before SAM showed him that hey, dad conveniently left the recipe somewhere in his memories, he’d ask his sister to make it, because she was the best at recreating the flavors. He also prefers dark chocolate over milk/white and his favorite ice cream flavor is butter pecan.

what if zaeed had like 58 different explanations for his arm tattoo and most of them contradict each other and he tells them to throw people off

“it says ‘don’t ask questions’ in batarian.” “it’s a krogan clan war paint.” “it’s from an ancient asari combat scroll for the five-finger death punch.” “i got it on a pirate ship after i beat the captain at arm wrestling.” “i got it in a bar on omega, they put ryncol in the ink. this warlord bet me i wouldn’t do it. he’s walking around now with a naked lady on his chest.” “you see those lines? that’s for every time i killed a man. yeah, well, i… i ran out of room.”

he actually just got it in his twenties because he thought it would make him look like a badass. he has no idea what it means. there’s probably a glyph for a food name in there somewhere.

The Seven Stages of Drunk Kaidan

A very silly drabble I wrote for Day 1 of Kaidan Appreciation week (humour!) about a very drunk Kaidan. Enjoy! 


A thunderous crash followed by the sound of breaking glass reverberated up through the floor of the apartment, so loud it was easily audible over the pumping music and shrieks of laughter from the kitchen below. Alex Shepard froze, horrified, as she heard Kaidan’s distinctive drunk laughter. 

Oh no.

She knew that laugh. She feared that laugh. It was the laugh of someone who was up to no good and about to do something stupid. Excusing herself from Traynor and Tali, she hurried downstairs and came to an abrupt halt as she took in the scene before her.

Kaidan, his shirt unbuttoned and dark hair ruffled and wild, stood on her dining room table with the chandelier and several chunks of ceiling lying in a broken heap beside him. A crowd had gathered to watch and Joker and James were yelling words of encouragement. Samara, her mouth a flattened line of disapproval, looked on in unsmiling dignity, and EDI watched from across the room.

“I am a biotic god!” Kaidan declared loudly, wobbling unsteadily and slurring his words. He clutched a whiskey bottle in one hand, and with a flourish he tossed it up into the air and caught it in a biotic field. “Behold my power!”

“Oh no,” Alex groaned, burying her face in her hands as the inebriated biotic howled wildly and sent the whiskey bottle zooming around the room, flying it low over Grunt’s head and cackling madly as the krogan chased it like a dog with a stick. She turned to face Garrus, aghast. "Garrus, what happened? Who let him get that drunk?“

The turian cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, sorry about that. James and Joker were giving him shots of Ryncol. I tried to stop them but, well, James wanted to see Kaidan drunk. Properly drunk.”

James! She thought furiously, he’d pay for this!

 The rest is under the cut! :)

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OT3: Transcendence

(I was very hesitant on posting this. But here’s Nihlus/Femshep/Garrus OT3 for poly week! Please excuse the inconsistencies/errors. I wanted to rely heavily on Nihlus’ point of view since we know so little of him. This was lots of fun to write!)

“Spirits damn him”, Nihlus hissed through a low growl. The Spectre’s hand clasped tightly around his dextro beer as he stared menacingly through a crowd of dancers. Why Shepard even invited him to Purgatory in the first place was beyond him. 

Miraculously he had escaped Sarens grasp back on Eden Prime, scars laden across the left side of his face and half of his fringe plates had been severely damaged from the bullet meant to take his life. By the time he’d taken his first steps after lying bedridden for months, Saren had been defeated by the great Commander Shepard and her team.

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ME fic: Waking Memory

Call that a tentative title for now. It is technically a Sewers to Stars fic, as it is about Artemisia Shepard, but it’s ME-centered this time. Not what I expected to be writing this weekend, but I’ll take it.

Summary: Grunt’s rite of passage wakes memories for Sole Survivor Shepard.

Characters: Shepard, Garrus, Dr. Chakwas, Grunt (a little)

Other Notes: Hints of Shakarian, but still early / pre-relationship

Shepard slams a fist into the keystone and waits. This time, the hammerfall seems louder, more resonant, like it vibrates in her eardrums a little longer. Sweat trickles down her cheek and evaporates off her skin as the wind kicks up, swirling dust around them. The dry, acrid air stings the inside of her nostrils. Just one more, Shepard tells herself as the sound of the hammer and its stentorian announcement fades away, one more trial, and they’ll be done with this.

Then the ground starts to shake.

Shepard flexes her knees to keep her stance, and it takes a fraction of a second to realize.

Oh, fuck, no.

Her gut tightens and her mouth instantly goes dry. Everything in her screams run, but there’s no time, nor even time for a warning before the thresher maw tears out of the ground shrieking.

Shepard moves.

For the first time, Shepard understands what Thane’s been talking about, about the body and mind being separate, because her mind is screaming too, gibbering wordlessly with no desire more complex than run and hide. But her body, reflexes trained and honed, moves without her thinking. Switches to incendiary ammo, fires, fires again, locks the rifle into place on her back and brings the particle beam to bear, all while running, dodging, bolting herself between one piece of cover after another.

She’s operating on autopilot too much to give orders, but she can hear Grunt laughing and Zaeed keeping up a steady stream of curses. They’re all right, then.

She throws herself to the side as a spray of acid spatters past her, sizzling and eating holes into the concrete. The maw screams and burrows back into the earth, peppered with her team’s shots. Shepard braces, finger on the odd-shaped level that powers the particle beam. Waits. A breeze brushes the hairs on the back of her neck. The ground trembles again. Shepard bites her lip and waits, tensed, trying to gauge which direction the shaking is coming from.

When the maw erupts out of the earth, Shepard breaks out of cover, spins, aims, and hits the lever.

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