It's the Little Things
Articles of Clothing

It's the little things in life that I have begun to relish after the Reaper war had been won. Life has thrown me challenges, none of which I have not been able to hurdle. Mainly, it was getting used to the feeling of the wind brushing kindly, gently against my skin, not worrying about cleaning my shotgun, getting used to my strengthening immune system, and breaking past the mental barriers I have bolstered over the twenty-five years of my life.
And here I am, having locked myself in this closet within my new home.
Yeah, that's right, my home.
An asari architect designed and built it, hired by none other than Shepard. He tells me he is trying to spoil me at every turn, but being the stubborn quarian girl I am, I resist, but admit, have been defeated. After everything he has done for me, I am spoiled rotten to the core. If some biologists were to split me open with a scalpel, I'd be writhing with worms and maggots.
He got me a planet for Keelah's sake!
With the corner of my mouth, I blew a loose strand of black hair away from my face.
How do human women deal with all of this? Frustrated, I grab my hair, and observe the thickets in the palm of my hand. It just gets everywhere. With the suit, it was all taken care of, but now I have to wash it every day, scrub it with shampoo (I admit, it smells nice, and the bubbles are a plus), condition it, and comb it. It takes a precious hour out of my day-an hour I once took for granted. In a way, I miss the suit. Slowly, I crane my head, eyebrows stitched together and with a frown over my lips, I can see my suit in pieces on a shelf. No longer do I need it for anything since nothing should be shooting at me anymore.
Let's hope I am right.
I scan the closet, having realized that my vision was better with the helmet on, and huff. A knock at the closet door didn't faze me.
One.
Two.
Three quick taps.
Nervously, my bare feet came together, toes curled up.
"Tali, are you ever going to come out?" asked Shepard, his voice laced with subtle concern and amusement.
"Can't you just give a girl a minute?" I shoot back, throwing a fistful of his boxer shorts at the door in a futile attempt to shut him up.
"It's been ten."
"Give me another minute... or ten," I said, crawling on the floor to pick up my mess.
Closets seem to be a big thing in human and asari culture since this behemoth is the size of my old house on the Rayya, if not bigger. A room solely dedicated to elaborate cloths was absurd! This could store yard equipment, food, or my tools. No one ever needs a walk-in closet. Looking around this room, I start to understand why it is so big-a point that I never really picked up on while spending time with a mainly human crew. People wear many articles of clothing: socks, shirts, pants, shoes, gloves, hats, jackets, underwear, so on and so forth. With us quarians, all we need is one single suit and a toolkit.
Keelah, life is more complicated without my old, beloved suit. Who would have thought? I mean, we need to brush our teeth, walk to the bathroom, flush toilets with our bare hands, dress, put on makeup (I tend to skip that part), take care of our skin, and the list goes on. That isn't even a fraction of what I have to do now.
Here I am, considered the smartest species of them all, and I am holding a pity party with myself while sitting in my underwear locked in a closet.
I stood up, pushed both fists into my hips, and glared at the daunting line of clothes. As of late, Shepard and I have been doing nothing. We are more worthless than a retired couple in Florida, or so Shepard says. I have been running around barefoot and haven't even bothered thinking about putting on shoes. The tile, wood, and carpeted floors are cool in the mornings and evenings, but warm in the afternoons as the sun shines through the skylights and stretches through the windows. The sand outside is silky and cool, especially when I push my feet under the top layer of heated, powdered rock, down into the cooler bits, and let the waves gingerly grab and tug at my ankles, pulling me deeper into the beach.
Shepard continued to pace outside the closet and I could hear his bare feet pitter patter under the slatted door. Natural late-morning light pierced the gaps between the boarded door and diagonally striped the white carpet in the closet. I could feel the sun's warmth on my feet and it ran its pleasant fingers up my naked thigh and ribs.
Casual, I chose.
I yanked a black tank top from its hanger and pulled it over, pairing it with something called capris pants. They are like... long shorts. Cut off at the bottom, but comfy. I have not worn this pair since Shepard had Kasumi picked out my wardrobe, but the clothing industry began to boom right after the war. Once the asari and humans caught whiff of how quarians were able to take off their suits, they began pumping out new products that could fit the quarian physiology. Soon, the quarians would be taking over the industry once we set up factories, employ designers, and get workers into groove.
Seventeen million of us can't go around naked.
I thought the pants were cute, but were a little tight around the hips and buttocks.
The pants were white with a pink flower stitched into the fabric right below my right pocket.
Garrus would give me a tough time over this.
I should not let him lay eyes on it, or I will have to break his arm at the elbow when and if he says something negative.
Now, it was time to take care of what I was immaturely dreading. When something does not make sense, I try to work a way around it, but these horrible... things annoyed me with to no end. My eyes glowed molten with rage as I took slumberous, great strides toward the drawer designated for such evil articles of clothing. I fumed and gnawed my lower lip, wishing to draw blood, slather these things with it, and sacrifice them under a full moon in the mid of night while chanting nonsense.
I yanked on the stainless steel drawer handle and there they were.
Dozens of them.
Socks.
I cringed and shivers hop scotched their way from the small of my back and gripped me with a chilled hug. I was tranquilized with hatred that rivaled what the Illusive Man got out of me, but plucked two from their flat wooden cave. These particular socks were designed to ergonomically fit my quarian foot. Two antennas protruded from the rectangular base-these two growths designed to dock my toes with a snug fit. I sighed, dropped my arms to my hips, closed my eyes, and tilted my head to the ceiling.
This must be done.
Hopping on one foot, I wrestled one on, then the other. Not satisfied with the result, I stormed out of the closet, crossed my arms, and fired off the best pouty in Shepard's direction.
I hoped to see him slowly look over my top half and with his eyes, console my confidence, but his eyes shot to the two white oven mitts wrapped around my feet.
"I like them," he said.
"At least I can pull a hot baking sheet out of a five-hundred degree oven with my feet," I said, voice low and tremulous.
"Socks are important. I wear them every day," reminded Shepard.
"Remind me why, again?"
"To keep my feet dry and smelling of daisies."
"So if I don't keep them on, my feet will smell like something that pushes daisies?"
"Exactly."
I glared at my feet, then to my figure in the mirror. My hair was a puffy mess after pulling at it in frustration, a crooked frown elegantly embellished my face, and my cheeks had caught fire.
Socks.
My mortal enemy has been defeated, revealing yet more problems I had to conquer.
Like standard quarian military protocol written around killing a geth Colossus, you take it down with "bug bites."
"It's the little things," I said to Shepard.

So, while writing my next big Mass Effect fanfiction, The Aurora Prophecy, a good friend of mine suggested I write more "fluff" to ease all of your pain and to dimple your cheeks with smiles. When I feel like it, I will be putting out these little short stories to keep all of my readers actively chanting my name and rooting me on whilst I continue to write my next story. Each "episode" will go into the mind of Tali'Zorah as she deals with ordinary life, of which is extraordinary to her as she journeys into the complications of being suitless on Rannoch.