"A Human man and a Turian woman go on a blind date. Leave matchmaking to an Asari..."
This is fanfiction set in the universe of Mass Effect. It follows original characters at a non-specified time before the events of the games. The story should be comprehensible even of you are not familiar with the source material, though I imagine most who are reading this probably are. I hope you enjoy it.
Mass Effect is the property of BioWare. This is a work of fan fiction and contains scenes of sexual nature.
Mismatched Lovers
Chapter 1
The Mismatchmaker
"Regretfully: My apologies. We do not currently have any GXT-supporting systems adapted for Human ears. With great enthusiasm: May I suggest this new Salarian made Audioblast headset with modular earplugs instead?"
Tom did what he could not to roll his eyes. The line he had been standing in had reached outside the crammed kiosk and all the way to the sushi bar. If he could have just asked up front, he wouldn't have had to waste 30 minutes of his life on this pointless endeavor.
"No, it's fine. Thanks anyway," he told the Elcor cashier before the robust alien had had the time to point out the offered item on the shelf. He felt it impolite to leave while the lumbering attendant had his back to him, so he stepped back from the counter and waited until the pachydermal, quadrupedal behemoth turned back around. He met his beady eyes on a nearly featureless face before bidding farewell and winding his way towards the entrance.
"Sincerely: I hope you will come again soon," the cashier's monotonous voice droned behind him.
The Elcor were native to the high-gravity planet Dekuuna, which made them big, impressively strong and even more impressively slow. Among themselves, they communicated by subtle gestures and scents imperceptible to anyone else, which aided their inflexible vocalizations. That meant that when speaking to other species, announcing their intended emotion was the only way to color their speech. Tom wondered how often they used this fact to lie. Standing behind the counter the whole day certainly seemed like a joyless existence.
His omnitool pinged as he was dodging a passing Hanar's tentacles and so Tom leaned against a wall, activated the orange-glowing holographic interface on his wrist and brought up the chat window:
Steph > [
Hey are u coming at all or not?
]
Steph > [
Kevin's gonna be under the table before you get here
]
Tom sighed, wiping his hand across his eye. In truth, he wasn't exactly looking forward to joining his friends in the Purgatory Club for the evening. It's not that he didn't like the folks; in contrary, their company was one of the few positive things about his working days. They just suffered from the unfortunate condition of being
extroverts,
meaning they favored the most obnoxious pastimes imaginable. He had only accepted their invite for the sake of not breaking the group up. Which he seemed to have made a habit of.
"Hey," a voice piped up, tearing him from his musings, "were you looking for the new GXT-compatible series?"
Tom looked around for the source of the flanging voice and found it belonged to a casually dressed Turian woman. The alien figure was standing to the side of him, a small black package in her hands, as if she was just exiting the store whose entrance he was leaning against. She was nearly a head taller than him; her powerful build and bone-white, armor-plated face cutting an imposing image. The soft, blue eyes that peered at him though made him feel at ease.
"What? Oh, yeah," he stammered, straightening himself. "Not that they had anything for Humans. I knew they would have likely sold out before noon but my shift just ended an hour ago. And the store doesn't update their e-shop stock until the next day which means you can't order a delivery either, though why that is I cannot grasp."
"Business strategy," the alien woman answered. "Everyone wants the new gadgets before they're gone, so they come in person. And if you're already here and they don't have what you want, they'll more easily convince you to buy something else instead. Plus, the lines are pretty much free advertising."
"Huh," Tom processed the information, equally impressed and infuriated at the practice. "That's insightful! You work in marketing or something?"
The Turian chuckled - or at least made a sound that Tom thought was a chuckle - the mandibles framing her face exposing the needle-like teeth at the sides of her mouth as they quivered. "No, not at all! I've just been shopping here for a while now. You know, you could always order from the distributor if you'd like. You seem like someone who knows what they want."
"Yeeeah," Tom glanced at the ground, rubbing his neck. "That's a little outside my price range." It was true. The reason people flocked to this store was their massive discounts on new stock.
The Turian nodded, tapping the box in her hands. "I understand that. Listen, in between us connoisseurs," she leaned in conspiratorially, bringing her mandibles level with his eyes, "the store actually receives their inventory the evening before. They don't advertise it, but if you come in late and ask about a specific ware, they'll bring it in for you."
That got Tom's attention. "Really?"
The woman nodded, miming a shushing gesture. "If I wasn't working a late shift, I would have come yesterday. It's how I usually do it."
"Wow. Thanks! I'll, uh... I'll write that down for next month."
"Don't mention it!" the woman called as she went on her way, shooting him what he hoped was a friendly grin. "Literally."
Tom was left standing there, mildly stunned by the turn of events. As he processed this piece of intel, he was beginning to feel less bummed by his situation. Not that it made him pleased about what was to follow. It was late and he was tired and the last thing he needed in his life right now was loud thumping, flashing lights and half-drunk people shouting and flailing around.
Not that there was really a day or a night on the Citadel, just a routine you learned to follow. Built by a long extinct race, the massive alien construct was the biggest space station to ever exist and the de-facto hub of the galaxy. It consisted of five enormous blade-like arms called the wards, arranged into a cylinder, the inside of each housing an entire metropolis. On one side, they were connected to a central ring known as the presidium: a luxurious district, home the council chambers (the seat of the galactic political leadership), as well as embassies of each individual species.
The whole thing reminded Tom of a ceiling fan with its blades folded downward, creating artificial gravity as it slowly spun around its axis. If needed, the Citadel could close completely and become virtually impregnable to any known weaponry; but for all the time Tom had lived there, the wards had remained open, offering a stunning view of the violet clouds of the Serpent Nebula that surrounded it. A view he had once gladly sacrificed his circadian rhythm for.
But as much as he enjoyed gawking out of a skyscraper window, Tom unfortunately had friends. And he's kept them waiting long enough by now.
o o
\ ˇ /
The Purgatory Club was probably the most accurately named joint on the Citadel. To sum it up, it was a club. Not exactly a prestige one, but not a place one went to every night. And it was one of the best ones on the ward, filled with great bars, comfortable seating, booming beats and dance floors' worth of writhing bodies. Which is to say, it matched Tom's vision of a purgatory.
"Come on, brighten up a little! You look like you're at a funeral!" Ed shouted from across the table. They were sitting in a booth, which Tom had to admit dampened the ruckus of the club somewhat, but not enough that his tipsy friend wouldn't think to raise his voice.
"Told you you were wasting time waiting in those lines," Stephen chimed in. "This wouldn't have happened if you'd come with us from the get go, you know." He took a swig from his glass and grabbed a bottle to refill it, Tom waving him away when he offered it to him. "Or is this about the date?"
"Riiight!" Ed roused himself and leaned over the table, dragging Marrissa with him as she clutched onto his shoulder. "How did it go? Spill the beans!"
Tom sighed and fell back into the cushioned seat. "It went..." he started, conjuring a sufficiently diplomatic response, "fine. But also, nowhere."
Ed scowled. "That's it? Really? You have nothing more to add? Don't leave us hanging!"
Tom had plenty more to add, but it wouldn't have been fair; neither to his date nor to his friend, who had so enthusiastically set the two of them up. The date went exactly as Tom had predicted, but as he'd already established, he had certain issues with the word 'no'. Namely, he used it so often, he felt like it had lost all its meaning.
He shrugged and said nothing further on the matter, gazing instead out of the booth, which offered a clear view of one of the dance floors. The menagerie of different species all moving to the rhythm in ways their anatomy best allowed them was an interesting sight, even to someone from the Citadel. But the diverse crowd of Turians, Humans and the occasional Salarian was, as usual, dominated by the Asari. The alluring aliens were probably the most common sight in the galaxy, and that went for both prestigious or political positions as well as social hotspots.
Appearing for all intents and purposes as attractive, blue-skinned women with rigid crests instead of hair, the single-gendered species had no trouble fitting in wherever they went. They were the first ones to discover the Citadel, abandoned for ages in the far reaches of space, and it was they who founded the galactic council. It was practically unheard of an unsuccessful Asari. Their thousand-year lifespans and innate telekinetic abilities didn't hurt their opportunities either. Still, Tom sometimes had trouble reconciling the image of the elegant social butterflies with the richest and most technologically advanced species in the galaxy.
"Where is Kevin, anyway?" he asked all of a sudden, realizing he hadn't noticed him since he arrived.
"Last I've seen him, he was trying to woo some Asari he accidentally trampled on the dance floor," said Marrissa, her tone conveying an eyeroll without looking up from her glass.
"Someone should remind him he's not a teenager anymore," said Tom. "We're too old to let loose like he does. He could use some responsibility in his life that isn't third party."
"I think if that lesson hadn't sunk in yet, there's no hope anymore," Stephen commented. "Of course, a teenager with an Asari is a whole 'nother thing to unpack!"
That elicited a table-wide chuckle. Of course, there was the other reason Asari fit in anywhere they went. Their strange biology allowed them to reproduce by mentally linking with their partner and copying their genetic code which they then mixed with their own. Meaning that in practice they could procreate with any species and any gender. The child would always be Asari, of course, but if you didn't mind that fact (or that your partner would outlive you by hundreds of years), Asari/Human couples were actually quite common. Or Asari/Anything for that matter. Their culture or religion or whatsit essentially encouraged them to seek out alien partners, putting a social stigma on intraspecies relationships. A curious contrast against most cultures.
"How about you, Tom?" asked Ed. "Ever had eyes for an Asari?"
Right
, thought Tom.
