No one knew, really, what Shepard had to do to make N7. They talked, they guessed, in the end they just made shit up – but no one knew.
In which Yvaine Ryder meets Eliza Shepard.
Someone who didn’t know better would think Alec Ryder had never been discharged at all, the way he glad-handed across the reception hall, slapping shoulders and shaking hands like he still belonged here, with all the other Alliance types. Yvaine watched him, laughing over champagne like nothing had changed, and shoved her own glass aside before she could do something stupid or embarrassing, like shatter it with a badly-timed corona flare.
The Ryder family name could stand up to a lot, judging by how no one openly rejected her dad, but public displays of idiocy would definitely cross the line.
“I need some air,” she yelled in Scott’s ear. If he heard her over the music, he didn’t act like it. Just kept bobbing his head and making eyes at one of asari across the way.
Good luck with that, Yvaine thought, her throat hot, and headed for the door to the balcony. That’s one of Matriarch Odrade’s acolytes. You’ll have better luck getting inside that volus’ suit than her panties. Or whatever she’s wearing under that dress.
She made it outside just before the headache hit and left her reeling and dizzy and more than a little sick to her stomach. Shit. Not another migraine, not tonight.
Weakness was the one unforgivable sin in this family, she reminded herself, and forced herself to keep walking, even though the lights made her temples pound and her mouth had gone all dry and sour. Sure, she could get her amp replaced, again, but that meant surgery, and recovery time, and she still wasn’t guaranteed a fix.
Dad would tell her to work through the pain, that she could always find a way to succeed, no matter the odds, but then he didn’t have a fucked-up nervous system, did he? And even if he did, with Dad’s luck, he’d just sail through without a headache or any of the other hundred bullshit ways biotics messed with your life.