During his time working for the ERCS on Noveria, Vhorin Menaeston largely kept to himself. Spending most of his free time quietly tucked away with a warm drink and something to read. A creature of habit, he often chose the same spot; a window overlooking one of Noveria's frozen lakes perfectly framed by jagged mountain peaks. The sight always soothed him and helped to structure his thoughts.

One particular colleague, a human male, always managed to disturb his reverie however. Perhaps it was a sign of the tensions between their species slowly mending over the years following the events of the First Contact War. Or maybe the human was simply a spirit of chaos testing the limits of his patience. Regardless of origin, the human always passed by his spot armed with a veritable arsenal of pop-culture references and slang terminology unearthed from his homeworld's ancient past. And upon discovery that Vhorin was an Engineer in cryogenics, this pest had further fine-tuned his array of insufferable quips.

"You just CHILLING in your usual spot today?"

"Eyyy! ICE, ICE, Baby!"

"Hey Vho-Bro, don't give me the COLD shoulder!"

What did half of these expressions even mean? What link existed between maintaining social distance and low temperatures localized to the region of an individual's shoulders? Day after day this implacable foe grated away at Vhorin's nerves. Extreme measures needed to be taken. If dated pop-culture was this human's weapon of choice, then perhaps it was also his weakness. It took the Turian some digging, but after a few hours killing braincells scouring through the Alliance cultural archives, he believed he had excavated a sufficiently snappy comeback.

"The cold never bothered me anyway."

When he'd spoken the words, the human had been stunned. For a moment, Vhorin thought himself victorious... but the illusion of victory quickly faded as a smile lit up the human's face. Instead his attempts to disarm the situation had only escalated the conflict. Overjoyed and enthusiastic with getting Vhorin to break his stoic silence, the intensity and frequency of the verbal attacks on his peace and quiet only increased over the following days. Often with the hostile party urging him to say the same line again, reacting with disproportionate delight any time the Turian relented.

And to make matters even worse, the human wouldn't stop calling him "Princess" now...

*****

Another commission from the wonderful   Palavenmoons featuring my introverted Turian boy, and the difficulties that can come from trying to adapt to the sense of humour of an entirely different species!