Fanfic: The War Was in Color
Title: The War Was in Color
Fandom: Mass Effect
Rating: PG-13
Genre: slice-of-life
Words: 650
Characters: Ashley, OCs
They were in the damn stow compartment. All three of them, Ev, Chrissy and Shepard’s namesake.
“Annelies Marie Williams!” Ashley shouted. “Report, soldier! What have you brats gotten into?!”
Rather than looking ashamed, the girls just looked up at their grandmother with big smiles. They knew her too well. Anne held up one of Ashley’s service medals.
Ashley felt her weathered face go blank.
“Buncha cool pictures, Gramma.” Ev said. “Are these from the Reaper war?”
Ev had a slideshow frame, cycling endlessly between old crew pictures and candids from shore leave. Ashley took a deep breath.
“Yeah!” Chrissy shouted, ever the boistrous baby. “Tell us stories!”
Ashley sat down, her replacement spine complaining. She calmly took the frame from Ev’s hand.
“Okay,” she said, “but you have to treat these things with respect, okay?”
The girls looked very serious all of a sudden.
“Got that, soldier?” She looked at Anne particularly. If Anne fell in line, the brats would, too.
“Yes, ma’am.” Anne said, nodding curtly.
“Oh, Jesus…” Ashley whispered. “…where do I start.”
The frame was showing that picture they’d taken on the Citadel, right after Wrex had joined. She froze it. It was a low-rez photo, you couldn’t even make out Wrex’ scars. Not that Ashley had looked much better. She’d never been a photogenic person.
She looked up at her granddaughters, and told them.
She told them about her grandfather, their great-great-grandfather, the general. How he’d brought shame on the family.
She told them about Basic, how she’d gone from a soldier’s daughter to a soldier. And a damn good one.
She told them about her frustration, about how she wanted to tear her hair out at the way the brass held the sins of the grandfather over her.
She told them about the ‘routine mission’ on Eden Prime. The one they read about in history class. She’d watched her entire unit taken out, man by man, by something unknown and utterly alien. She’d been cut up by the crossfire, and survived out of sheer luck.
She told them about Shepard, who’d seen the same thing. About the eerie silence where the colony had been, about the buzz of bullets on her shield.
She told them about the Citadel, Therum, Noveria, about a dozen side missions they’d gone on because it was the right thing to do. About bumping around in the Mako and running across red earth under alien skies. About the trickle of sweat in her helmet and the taste of rations and the salty smell of the surf tugging at her ankles on Virmire.
She paged through the pictures in the frame. She hated them all.
Ashley Williams was not a photogenic person. And, now, the photos would be all that was left of her. That, and the crew, and the memories in her sisters’ hearts.
God, that sounds so stupid, she thought as another geth fell out of the sky. She was fighting off an invasion already doomed. The bomb would be going off in seconds, and she was still shooting drones out of the sky. She’d heard the Normandy’s flyby. The crew was safe.
Why was she still shooting?
For her granddaughters, really.
Bang. The shots glowed red in the sunlight.
Whatever she could do to make Saren’s life a living hell, give humanity a future, she’d do it.
Bang. A drone dove into the sparkling blue water, and exploded.
So her granddaughters would have a good life, and a chance to make the family proud. So they could quote poetry every damn year.
Bang. Blood on her service pinks.
Williams women fought to the last. That’s why.
She put the bead on another geth, and hoped one of her sisters named them Evangeline, Christobel, and Annelies.
And showed them her pictures and all those post-humous medals.
Trust me, granddaughter, the war was in color.
The color tore Ashley apart.
Fandom: Mass Effect
Rating: PG-13
Genre: slice-of-life
Words: 650
Characters: Ashley, OCs
They were in the damn stow compartment. All three of them, Ev, Chrissy and Shepard’s namesake.
“Annelies Marie Williams!” Ashley shouted. “Report, soldier! What have you brats gotten into?!”
Rather than looking ashamed, the girls just looked up at their grandmother with big smiles. They knew her too well. Anne held up one of Ashley’s service medals.
Ashley felt her weathered face go blank.
“Buncha cool pictures, Gramma.” Ev said. “Are these from the Reaper war?”
Ev had a slideshow frame, cycling endlessly between old crew pictures and candids from shore leave. Ashley took a deep breath.
“Yeah!” Chrissy shouted, ever the boistrous baby. “Tell us stories!”
Ashley sat down, her replacement spine complaining. She calmly took the frame from Ev’s hand.
“Okay,” she said, “but you have to treat these things with respect, okay?”
The girls looked very serious all of a sudden.
“Got that, soldier?” She looked at Anne particularly. If Anne fell in line, the brats would, too.
“Yes, ma’am.” Anne said, nodding curtly.
“Oh, Jesus…” Ashley whispered. “…where do I start.”
The frame was showing that picture they’d taken on the Citadel, right after Wrex had joined. She froze it. It was a low-rez photo, you couldn’t even make out Wrex’ scars. Not that Ashley had looked much better. She’d never been a photogenic person.
She looked up at her granddaughters, and told them.
She told them about her grandfather, their great-great-grandfather, the general. How he’d brought shame on the family.
She told them about Basic, how she’d gone from a soldier’s daughter to a soldier. And a damn good one.
She told them about her frustration, about how she wanted to tear her hair out at the way the brass held the sins of the grandfather over her.
She told them about the ‘routine mission’ on Eden Prime. The one they read about in history class. She’d watched her entire unit taken out, man by man, by something unknown and utterly alien. She’d been cut up by the crossfire, and survived out of sheer luck.
She told them about Shepard, who’d seen the same thing. About the eerie silence where the colony had been, about the buzz of bullets on her shield.
She told them about the Citadel, Therum, Noveria, about a dozen side missions they’d gone on because it was the right thing to do. About bumping around in the Mako and running across red earth under alien skies. About the trickle of sweat in her helmet and the taste of rations and the salty smell of the surf tugging at her ankles on Virmire.
She paged through the pictures in the frame. She hated them all.
Ashley Williams was not a photogenic person. And, now, the photos would be all that was left of her. That, and the crew, and the memories in her sisters’ hearts.
God, that sounds so stupid, she thought as another geth fell out of the sky. She was fighting off an invasion already doomed. The bomb would be going off in seconds, and she was still shooting drones out of the sky. She’d heard the Normandy’s flyby. The crew was safe.
Why was she still shooting?
For her granddaughters, really.
Bang. The shots glowed red in the sunlight.
Whatever she could do to make Saren’s life a living hell, give humanity a future, she’d do it.
Bang. A drone dove into the sparkling blue water, and exploded.
So her granddaughters would have a good life, and a chance to make the family proud. So they could quote poetry every damn year.
Bang. Blood on her service pinks.
Williams women fought to the last. That’s why.
She put the bead on another geth, and hoped one of her sisters named them Evangeline, Christobel, and Annelies.
And showed them her pictures and all those post-humous medals.
Trust me, granddaughter, the war was in color.
The color tore Ashley apart.