They don’t notice she’s a woman too, not right away. The drunker, stupider, or busier ones never do. To some, it’s less about sexuality and more about power. Krogan are dangerous beasts to tame—or be tamed by. Regardless, the flirting at the bar never extends as far as “by the way, I left Tuchanka after struggling against institutionalized sexism and fertility-based oppression for three centuries of my life. Do you have any kids?”
But Tokagur doesn’t care to get to know anyone on that level. What she can read from a glance is usually enough. The galaxy is diverse, but women are all the same.
Humans are foolhardy, strong-willed, but persuadable. She prefers the women with stolen glances full of hope and curiosity, like they don’t know how lucky they are for their short lifespans. She avoids the ones that complain about their men, children, or that moment they lost the spark in their eyes.
Turians are the other side of the same coin, if the coin were trampled by krogan that died before Tokagur was born. Bitter with cultural pride, and stubborn without reason, both enjoyable traits when shed on the floor next to their unnecessarily complicated fashion. Be it sexual rebellion, or personal conquest, she can spot them from a mile away. The women who watch her the entire night with the predatory eyes she recognizes on a purely instinctual level.
Salarian women are a myth, as far as Tokagur is concerned. Someone so self-important would never lower herself to the types of establishments Tokagur prowls. Though she wishes they would, so she can find out if they’d lower themselves as far as their knees.
Krogan women are a myth to others. Like Tokagur, they phase in and out of notice. Ignored or feared, and maybe as a result, assumed male. Batarians too, who watch asari with envy and humans with more than that. They try to escape their own kind, because those are the only ones who recognize and understand. And that’s too damn uncomfortable to stumble on when you’re just looking for cheap thrills.
Quarian were more fun before the suits.
Asari are typical, baseline, and not really women. But krogan have taken to calling anything they can stick their dick in “she.” Tokagur had a daughter by an elegant but hardened matron, once. She spent hundreds of years ignoring her, by request of the mother.
Drell are not dissimilar, with smoothly scaled bodies and bright colors seen nowhere on Tuchanka. Even with their sleek chests and flared hips, a women who never forgets is not desirable. She is, however, forgettable.
Until Tokagur sees her again on Earth, a week after Shepard dies. The actor-slash-journalist was the first to ask about her trists and fumbles with womankind, the first to care she’s a woman before a krogan. That was before the war.
They fuck against the side of a ruined Alliance tank. They both remember the dead too clearly, and even hated ex-girlfriends bring a sting to the eyes. The galaxy has changed too much to live at shitty dive bars. The drell doesn’t say so, but Tokagur knows she agrees. They rest against each other and pant, but remain in their own thoughts.
Until Tokagur takes a deep inhale of soot, smoke, reaper guts, and somewhere underneath it all, alien pheromones. “Buy you a drink?” she says.
The drell tosses her head back and laughs.
despite appearances, the ask blog is not dead!