Councilor Irissa's ears were still grating from Quentius furious tirade, her eyes offended by the other three Councilors' written letter of suspension, with a dismissal pending.

Irissa felt…mostly…sure that this dismissal wouldn't happen. The Asari Matriarchs were too busy with other things to want to go through the rigmarole and political jockeying of appointing a new Councilor.

She should have appointed an asari Spectre and team to smuggle the whole Prothean data cache off Thessia, and never mind the protocol involved. And she should have done it months ago. But the Athame Facility really was the best, the most advanced, station for studying the contents of the data cache which, even after hundreds of years, was nowhere near being fully unraveled.

Suspension pending dismissal…

'That's ridiculous!' she protested angrily when Quentius served her the document.

'If it was up to me, I'd simply shoot you for treason here and now. Your actions have been more of aid to the Council's enemies than to the Council and citizens of Council space.'

She couldn't very well point out that her actions benefitted the Asari Republics most. After all, all Councilors tried to favor their own people. It was just that some were better at it than others. No need for jealousy, it was simply the truth.

Suspension pending dismissal. As if they could find anyone better than her to hold the post, much less anyone nearby.

Irissa paced her office. Yes, Shepard's failure had been a setback, but surely there were ways to overcome every setback…

…although she had to admit, as startling as it had been to have Shepard call out the fact that the asari thought they were ready for the Reapers, it was even more startling to discover those preparations counted for almost nothing.

She didn't think Shepard had over exaggerated or understated the magnitude of the devastation on Thessia.

Oh, Thessia, Irissa thought, stopping to lean on her desk. The idea of her perfect, beautiful homeworld being ravaged by those machines, like any other backwater world, struck her to the core. Thessia!

She sat down at her desk, looking at her list of petitioners and appointments—both that quarian and that krogan Shepard was so fond of were on the list of 'if you have time to squeeze me in.' She pressed the button on her intercom. "Clear my schedule. I'm busy for the rest of the day and don't wish to be disturbed."

At the very least, she could start rallying support for beleaguered Thessia. They needed help, and she was surely in a position to begin diverting it where it needed to go.

"Of course, Councilor."

Irissa did not turn on her usual stream of music, not wanting to listen to the periodic news blurbs that punctuated any entertainment channel these days. The sense of having something constructive to do, something that she could look at at the end of the day and say 'there, I got all of this done' helped.

Suspension pending dismissal, indeed. The Council had made sure this was an available option once the humans got on the Council—though it surprised them all to discover the law was a very, very early one, implemented after the turians joined the Council. Apparently, the salarian and asari representatives felt it best to have a way to curb any too-warlike influences.

It wasn't a measure that had been used in recent centuries.

Slowly, Irissa submerged herself in her workflow, blocking out the wider galaxy with issues about which she could do something constructive. As she worked, her calm, her sense of assurance began to trickle back.

When those three idiots found themselves in deadlock—turians and humans didn't negotiate well, being stubborn like they were—they'd beg her to return the voice of the asari to the Council. It would be satisfying to watch their discomfort when they inevitably had to come crawling back.

Suspension? Temporary at most.

Dismissal? Highly unlikely. Leaving the Asari Republics without representation would require a reason, and no one would be stupid enough to admit that the asari had been secretly hoarding Prothean artifacts. Not in the current climate. The Allied Galaxy didn't need that kind of infighting, when there was Cerberus on one side and the Reapers on the other. It would be ridiculous.

She didn't turn her music stream on, but she began to hum idly as she continued to work. By the time the working day was almost over, she felt as calm, settled, and comfortable as she ever did. Setbacks happened, and were frequently overcome.

She got up, pouring herself an early end-of-the-day drink of Thessian liquor. She'd put in a good day, she mused, wandering over to the open end of her office, looking over the balcony at the Citadel.

Where would the Citadel be without the wisdom and strength of the asari? It didn't bear contemplating, so she didn't, merely sipped her drink contentedly, wondering how to spend her evening.

Her intercom abruptly buzzed.

Irissa glanced at the clock—another fifteen minutes before her working day was official over. Not that a Councilor's work was ever really done, she thought comfortably. "I told you I didn't want to be disturbed," Irissa declared deprecatingly. "Is it really important?"

"I'm sorry—" the secretary began, her voice high and thin, jitters lacing the few syllables.

Before Irissa could ask what had unnerved or upset the girl so, the door hissed open.

"I'm sorry," a low, autocratic voice declared, not sounding sorry at all. "But as you were not in a meeting, I did not feel the need to wait."

Irissa gaped at the tall, powerfully-built physique of the autocratic asari who sauntered easily into the room, her big silver eyes fixed penetratingly on Irissa. Richly crimson armor of an antiquated design left no doubt who the woman was—by kind, if not as an individual.

"…Madame Justicar?" Irissa asked, suddenly feeling small, diminished by the other asari's presence.

The Justicar's smile was beautiful…and absolutely frosty.