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Post by Maelstrom on Jul 9, 2017 23:39:11 GMT -6
[GM Post]
The Okinawa dropped out of FTL with a familiar lurch, as it neared the outer edges of a volus-controlled system, the sole garden world being Haeskon Ban. With the stealth systems engaged, the vessel glided undetectable through the vacuum of space. Ladar systems would have picked the vessel up on its final approach for the prestigious volus shipyard, known only to the elite of the galaxy, were it not for a perfectly-timed power surge in the sensor grid. Even so, onlookers on the Jolan Drives shipyard might have spotted the ship pulling into the closed dock, had it not been for a impromptu solar flare drill.
The doors closed behind the vessel, sealing it away in secrecy. At Jolan Drives, not only were the top systems and retrofits for sale, but discretion was easily provided, for a price. While the ambassadors and politicians who acted as the main clientele praised the company for its reliable drive systems and luxurious designs, the less public clients appreciated the cutting-edge and even experimental military tech the company was able to install covertly. It was not unheard of for more exclusive pleasure craft to have military-grade weaponry installed to defend from pirate craft while at the same time being able to pass security at even the most thorough ports.
That was why the Shadow Broker's business was readily accepted.
The station the Okinawa was docked at was customized for oxygen-breathing guests. Two separate habitats existed- that for the volus work crews and that for the vessel's clientele, providing as great a degree of secrecy and privacy for the guests as possible. Only the well-paid director and entertainment staff ever saw the faces of those who paid for their services. Aside from being paid to provide complete secrecy, the staff here was also compensated to make sure every moment which passed for their guests was one of exquisite bliss.
Uncharacteristically, only the director was present to greet the guests before quickly leading them to the lounge and disappearing himself. Inside were only two service mechs- one to mix drinks and one to take and deliver orders from the kitchen. Secrecy was obviously paramount.
The lounge itself did not speak to the nature of such things, though. It was lush, even more decadent than the rooms welcoming the Consort's clients on the Citadel. A long, fully stocked bar ran half of the long wall, and overstuffed couches and chairs draped in supple asari leather filled the room. The lighting was a soft, calming blue. There were vid-screens on the walls and entertainment spheres in the corners, but all were powered down. The only sound in the room were quiet strands of human classical music.
[Player Note- Players will have a short time to enter the room and place orders and/or have interactions with others before the meeting begins. They may go directly from the Okinawa or may visit their quarters on the station (since the ship will be off-limits while retrofits are being completed) prior to arriving. Note that the quarters will be customized to the tastes of the player character but equally decadent in their own way.]
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Post by Maelstrom on Jul 31, 2017 8:29:56 GMT -6
Maelstrom did not like being on the station, though he knew it was necessary to have the Okinawa overhauled,to remove any possible Cerberus traps. He supposed the place felt too antiseptic and the director who met them at the airlock seemed too eager to please. It felt too much like when Cerberus was trying to be his friend, after the torture but before he massacred them.
He shook his head. Intellectually, he knew the reason. This place catered to the upper levels of galactic society- people who expected others to bow and scrape.
His room on the station was sparse, though the furnishings were quite comfortable. He supposed it was an attempt to cater to his desires; there were less places for him to check for bugs. It had provoked him nearly to violence when he was informed he would not be allowed to stay on the Vengeance, even though she was docked in a small bay outside the Okinawa, to allow the work crews access to the ship's shuttle bay. This room was the next best thing, he supposed. Except for there only being a single king sized bed.
"We'll ask them to get another room prepared," he said, turning to regard the woman who had become his charge. She was already eying the bed with an expression he did not quite understand.
"No!" she exclaimed, a surprising amount of fear in her voice. Growing suddenly sheepish, she added, "I still don't think I could handle being alone like that."
Maelstrom stood unmoving as a statue, weighing how genuine she seemed against his fear of waking up with a knife in his back. Though he could hardly blame her for her attire, it did not help that she, like he, had taken to wearing armor whenever she was off the Vengeance.
Looking away, she added, "I guess if you need to be alone, I could ask to stay with Eric or Joe. Maybe Thrak, even."
Maelstrom knew when he was being played, but knowing did not make one immune to it. He had seen Lysander flirt with most every attractive biped they had met, and Fischer, as much as Maelstrom considered him a friend, was in many ways a walking bag of testosterone. Thrak, oddly enough, was the least threatening option to Maelstrom, despite being the one he knew for the least amount of time. The krogan seemed to have a genuine and selfless affection for Emily.
For a moment, he puzzled that the krogan was the one he would most trust to spend a night with his fragile charge while being the one he would least trust his life to out of the trio.
"Fine. Stay here," Maelstrom assented. Only after speaking the words did another cause for concern enter his mind.
Emily beamed at her victory. For a moment, Maelstrom wondered if this woman was capable of true deception and betrayal. Yes, she knew how to manipulate people, but she also had a guileless and even innocent manner about her. He wrestled with the same question he had since he first saw her face. Could he truly trust her?
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Post by Urdnot Thrak on Jul 31, 2017 9:19:34 GMT -6
Thrak set his bags down heavily on the floor, as he strode into what were apparently to be his quarters on the station for the duration of his stay. Whoever had designed them seemed to be quite familiar with what krogan found most appealing. In one corner of the room was a specially-designed combat dummy, made to handle both physical punishment and gunshots. There was even padding designed to absorb projectiles on the walls behind the dummy. There was a bar built into the wall, stocked with various vintages of fine ryncol, and there was a small refrigeration unit and open-flame grill just far enough from the ryncol to not be a fire hazard. Built into the floor in a different corner was a hot tub, the steam coming off it showing that it was being kept at just below boiling- a perfect temperature for a krogan. As he flopped down on the bed, he was surprised that the mattress gave hardly at all under his bulk. A big smile spread across his face, as he realized that for the first time in decades, he was offworld and sleeping on a krogan mattress. The ones most other species used were far too soft, folding around him like a taco shell and leaving him achy in the morning. In another corner, looking around the room, he found a number of krogan games, each obviously designed so it could be played by two players or with a single player and VI.
"Vid screen on!" he addressed the VI he assumed would control such a lavish room. The entire far wall flashed into a vid-screen, and Thrak was surprised, as it was projected just far enough away from the bar and other amenities as to completely obscure them.
Unsurprisingly, the programming it first selected was krogan pornography, though the quality was better than he expected.
"Change programming!" he barked. The selection might have fit with most krogan males, but Thrak had never understood the point of such things.
"Specify," the VI said in a deep but feminine voice that Thrak immmediately identified as krogan female.
He checked again to make sure the door was closed before saying in a much quieter voice, "Harvester."
"I have found one hundred and seventy two titles by that name. Please, specify," the VI requested.
"The original was made by that J. Weedy guy," Thrak said, unable to remember man's name.
"No records found for a J. Weedy," the VI replied.
Grunting in dissatisfaction at having to say it, Thrak said, "The adaptation of the human show."
"Title found. Which episode?"
"'Our Mrs. Jorgal,'" Thrak said, remembering where he had left off.
For a remake of an all-human-cast show, it was quite good, he thought. Krogan filled most of the key roles, though the engineer was obviously quarian and the doctor, his sister, and the Consort were all asari. Rumor had it that in pre-production, a turian was considered as the first officer, but it would have clashed with the backstory of the captain and first officer having been on the same side of the Krogan Rebellions, fighting together. The biggest complaint he had was that the producers left the ship unarmed. As if any krogan would captain an unarmed ship.
Not wanting to rewatch the whole episode, just to pick back up, he provided a timestamp.
"If you take sexual advantage of her," the shaman said, referring to the asari the crew had just picked up- who promptly declared herself married to the captain, "you're going to burn in a very special level of hell. A level they reserve for child molesters and people who talk during varren fights."
Thrak quickly remembered the correct timestamp, and the vid flashed forward.
The captain was on a walkway confronting his strongest enforcer.
"Six turians came to kill me one time, and the best of 'em carried this. It's a Raptor, full-auto target-assist. Customized trigger, expanded thermal clips. It is my very favorite gun," the enforcer said, holding the gun out.
"You offering a trade?" the captain asked.
"A trade?! This is theft! The best gun in the galaxy! It has *extreme* sentimental value. It's kilometers more worthy 'n what you got!"
"What I got? Blue girl has a name!"
Looking longingly at the rifle, the enforcer said, "So does this. I call it Verak..."
Thrak looked down at his Raider and considered naming it. He quickly discarded the idea, knowing that if anyone else was familiar with the show, they would pick up on the reference. The idea of letting others know what he privately found entertaining was unnerving.
Relaxing back on the bed, he decided he had just enough time to finish the episode before going to the meeting in the station's lounge, where the director had told them Feron would soon be waiting for them.
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Post by Maelstrom on Jul 31, 2017 9:55:25 GMT -6
Before Maelstrom had left the room, Emily in tow, he had noticed that it was even nicer than he first realized. A hot tub had been covered over in one corner, a small bar and kitchenette in a different corner, and even a dummy for him to practice his combat skills on. Emily had been the one to discover the large vid-screen.
He had decided to bring the woman with him to the meeting. At first, he had thought to keep her secret, but if she were to serve on a vessel owned and operated by the Shadow Broker's employees, he knew he would never manage to keep her a secret. Instead, he would introduce her as a pilot for his shuttle or something of the like. That way, much like himself, the full truth of her existence would remain shrouded in mystery but her presence would be out in the open.
The woman next to him nearly pranced along, as they made their way through the corridors and towards the lounge. He wondered how much of the enthusiasm was over her earlier victory and how much she grasped of how dangerous the lifestyle she had chosen to accompany him in truly was. Another thing which kept playing through his head was how odd the two of them must seem together. By the fact that they both wore matte black and that she stuck close to him, it was clear that they were together, but he was generally professional and reserved- if not cold- while she was bubbly.
Maestrom was taken aback when he came to the lounge. It was decadent in the extreme. He nearly expected to see it filled to bursting with Consorts. Instead, the only two occupants were a pair of serving mechs.
He took a seat at the bar and was momentarily rendered speachless by how comfortable the stools were, even through his armor. Turning to the mech, he said, "Rye whiskey."
"Same," Emily announced, taking a seat beside him.
The announcement rendered him speechless. This was the first time this woman had ever drank any alcohol, so far as he knew. What was more, the Emily he had known before her hated rye whiskey with a passion.
"Would you like some food with that?" the other mech asked, a menu flicking up over its outstretched hand. "As a reminder, all meals and beverages are complimentary."
Maelstrom scanned it quickly before replying, "The filet mignon with grilled asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes."
Emily chimed up a moment later, "Filet mignon, but with sweet potato fries and grilled pineapple."
"Coming right up," the mech announced before taking its previous station. No doubt, it would only disappear into the kitchen once the food was ready, remaining in the open to take any other orders that may be placed in the mean time.
The drinks were delivered, and Maelstrom took a careful sip, knowing that the first sip always hit hardest. He was impressed; this was the best he had ever partaken of. Emily watched with curiosity before repeating his procedure. Her eyes went wild, and she convulsed slightly, as she struggled to keep the liquid down. She swallowed before gasping, a look in her eyes that clearly said she thought he was crazy.
He could not help but laugh. "You ordered it. You have to finish it."
She looked at the glass for a moment as if it were an insurmountable task before her face turned to an expression of resolve.
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Post by spartan560 on Jul 31, 2017 10:37:40 GMT -6
Izahm walked into his room to find it almost completely bare except for a large gel mat on the floor three top of the line quantum computers with near direct links to most hub world infonets and an industrial grade workbench. 'Well guess they knew I don't sleep much and prefer to work' he thinks letting the single duffel bag e held fall to the floor. He flicks on his Omni-tool then runs a custom program to sweep for bugs his normally black Archon HUD turning a neon blue. Finding none electronically he proceeds to visually inspect the room using his cybernetic eye for even closer inspection of suspicious items. Finding none once more he smiles in approval and removes his helmet placing it atop his duffel bag. He then walks over to the three computers and sends a burst trnasmission first to a private encrypted line to confirm his successful mission along with all the data he retrieved then to another private encrypted line to retired Lieutenant Lori'ar Hadashi with coordinates for his shuttle to be delivered. Once that is done he checks over his weapons by raising his arm and checking the hidden blade before reaching over his left shoulder and checking his sword, he then pats his hip making sure his Phalanx is there then he reaches up and makes sure his Widow is in his back correctly.
Once assured a his weapons are secure Izahm picks his helmet back up and walks into the bar/restaurant . He spots Maelstrom and another woman unfamiliar to him at the bar, content to just observe people until the meeting starts. He walks up to one of the two mechs and orders a Matriarch Special with a side of grilled salmon topped with a chipotle mayo and on a toasted wheat bun. Izahm then goes to a table nearby the bar but far enough from the entrance he could spot any arrivals. He then starts to sip at his drink relishing the cool smooth drink as he waits for his sandwich. 'Well this should be interesting,' he thinks as he waits, 'My first time back with the gang since the Valiant blew up.'
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Post by Urdnot Thrak on Jul 31, 2017 11:51:04 GMT -6
One thing Thrak had noticed only on the way out the doors of his quarters was that the room was equipped with its own medigel dispenser and a handheld fire extinguisher. His appraisal of the designer's understanding of krogan went up a hair.
He made his way to the lounge, having already selected a bottle of ryncol to bring with him. Most younger krogan would have turned their noses up to it, a brew that had slightly less alcohol and other psychoactive agents than was typical, but from a single previous experience, he knew it had a fuller and more nuanced taste than the swill most krogan usually enjoyed. And it still burned like a star's core.
He appraised the others upon entering. Smiles and Girlie were sitting at the bar with what smelled like whiskey- one of the few alien drinks Thrak favored- and seemed to be playing around. Junior was sitting with that repellent asari drink he favored, but, to his credit, he picked a spot where he could keep his eye on the room. The krogan nodded at each by way of greeting.
He was glad to see that wearing his armor to the meeting would not appear rude. Though he was relaxed enough to drink, he would never attend a business meeting full of mercs without his armor and at least his Raider.
"May I get you something to eat, sir?" the serving mech asked, bringing up a holographic menu.
He was hungry but had not planned on eating until after. Appraising the bottle clutched in his right hand, though, he decided food would be wise. Looking at the menu, he huffed in disgust.
"What on here is fish?" he demanded, seeing no krogan species.
"The salmon and tuna are human fish, and calamari is considered human seafood. We also have caviar, a human delicacy made from fish eggs. The bredthol puffer is a popular asari delicacy served raw, and seral shark soup is another asari favorite. Salarian fish on our menu include live vespal minnows and poached umari sucker," the mech answered.
Thrak grunted, not knowing any of the dishes.
"As a reminder, all meals and drinks are complimentary for guests."
Brightening, he said, "Sounds good, then. I'll take it."
"Excellent, sir. Which dish?"
"All of it," Thrak said.
The mech paused for a moment, its programming struggling to accommodate the unusually large order.
"How would you like the dishes prepared?"
"Every way," Thrak answered.
The mech paused again before replying, "Very good, sir."
Thrak smiled. After a meal like this, he knew all his stomachs would be full to capacity, and he would probably live off the stored calories and nutrients in his hump for a couple days, at least. Biting off the cork to his ryncol and spitting it into a waste disposal unit, he found a table of his own next to the central area where he expected the meeting.
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Post by Eric Lysander on Jul 31, 2017 19:35:38 GMT -6
Working for the Shadow Broker had its own unique privileges. Eric wondered if Esteban Bridges had had enough credits, reputation or even the stones to get a secure berth at the exclusive volus shipyards. But the senior N7's reverie was short-lived as he was left in the lounge with the rest of his crew.
At the mercy of two service mechs...
Eric checked himself into his quarters after quickly exiting the lounge, firing off a strongly worded message to the director. Overall it appeared much like a deluxe hotel suite complete with a mini-bar and panoramic vidscreen. Had he checked the system's menu he would have found that it was preloaded with many of his favorite 20th century vids as well as the complete Dutch Nelson series, but a crate by the king size bed, clashing with the decor, caught his attention. He walked over to it and picked up the data pad resting on it. The note confirmed he was not hallucinating: it was a newly custom-created Bultas crate, replacing one of the two he lost months ago. The Shadow Broker explained that due to production costs and resources that he should count himself fortunate to even receive this one and that perhaps if the demolitions expert continued to prove his worth that "more exceptions could be made."
Eric familiarized himself with his new crate. All the compartments and panels were there as on his old units. There was even a BioVox lock installed with his passphrase waiting to be enabled. Feeling very much like a child on his birthday, he then made his way into the somewhat spacious bathroom to wash his face. As he dried it off his response from the leisure director was delivered to his omni-tool.
----
To: Lysander, Eric From: Director, Jolan Drives Leisure & Entertainment Re: Service Mechs
While we at Jolan Drives sympathize with your position, rest assured that your comfort and safety are our highest priority. Our mechanized servers are assembled and programmed within the strictest of standards and instilled with the very same priorities as the organic staff. They have an impeccable track record and quite frankly odds are very low that a "Mecha-geddon," as you put it, would occur during your time with us.
That being said, if you do notice any of our mechs acting out of sorts we ask that you refrain from rectifying the problem yourself and notify me immediately. Our pool of programmers and engineers are more than capable of restoring the natural order.
Thank you and enjoy your stay.
----
He sneered; these techs were far too confident in their abilities, he thought. He closed up the message and looked around the rest of the bathroom, stopping at the shower, the birthday feeling turning to caution and dread. He slowly reached for the control and activated it.
Fresh water, not a shimmer of sonic waves, spewed from the shower head and splashed all over Eric's right arm and shoulder.
The birthday had turned into Christmas Morning...
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Post by Joe Fischer on Jul 31, 2017 20:40:57 GMT -6
Joe made his way to his quarters, carting both suits of armor as well as all of his guns. Even then the felt uncomfortable.
It was all of the mechs.
His encounter with the geth—one entirely of his own making, thank you very much for reminding me of that, Mr. Memory—was far too recent for him to relax around them.
Now I know how the old man feels…
*****
Upon entering his quarters for his stay at the highly exclusive shipyard, he was not surprised at its lavishness; the quality of work on the ships was to be expected, but for such a place neither would be the amenities.
It looked like the operators had made sure it was a room he would like: an obscenely comfortable bed that he could sink into, along with a mini-gym, full bar, a bench for conducting modifications or repairs to his equipment and a door that he presumed led to a bathroom.
Stepping inside, he saw it was a combination shower-hot tub. Turning the faucet, he was pleased to see actual water come out of the faucet.
*****
As much as he wanted to use the hot tub, he also knew that if he sat in it he would not leave for a very long time, so he used the shower; the hot tub could be enjoyed later.
As he dressed, he eyed his equipment, considering which suit to wear. The Destroyer was certainly his first choice—it was what he was most comfortable with—but it was also slower than the Kestrel, and besides, what kind of trouble could happen here? It was possible, but the operators worked hard to ensure nothing untoward would happen to their guests.
Fuck it, he thought, and strolled out of the room wearing neither armor nor weapons—he’d be damned if he was going to turn into either Maelstrom or the old man.
*****
Making his way to the meeting space, he saw he was not the first to arrive; Maelstrom, Emily, Thrak and Izahm were already there, and all of them were armed and armored.
A service mech walked up to him.
“Would you like something to eat or drink?” it asked.
He smiled; it was time to put their services to the test.
“I want a double bacon cheeseburger, plain, don’t skimp on the bacon,” he said. “I want a bucket of fries, crispy but not burned, and to drink I’ll have a root beer, no ice.”
“Yes sir,” it said and walked away.
*****
Striding up to the bar, he saw Maelstrom and Emily were there, sipping at what appeared to be whiskey. He took a seat a couple spaces down from the pair on Emily’s side.
“Care for something to drink, sir?” said a mech behind it.
“Jack Daniel’s, straight up,” he said.
The drink was served and he downed it in one gulp, nodding in approval at how smoothly it went down.
“Looks like I’m the only around here not afraid to get naked,” he said loudly enough for the others to hear and then winked with exaggerated suggestiveness at Emily.
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Post by Maelstrom on Jul 31, 2017 21:00:59 GMT -6
Maelstrom was not sure that he approved of Fischer's suggestive comment towards Emily, who was still struggling to down the whiskey. In fairness, he held no true claim to her, only acting as a self-appointed protector whose continued service was at her whim. Though, if she decided to ever ask him to let her go her own way, he would have to make a judgement call based on how strongly he felt he could trust that she truly was a unique individual and not the woman who so haunted his dreams... or a puppet of Cerberus.
Emily, for her part, burst out laughing. She had been struggling to get the whiskey down, but, as was to be expected, it seemed to be getting easier and easier for her to manage it. As was also expected, her demeanor was becoming more and more carefree.
Maelstrom wondered if he had made a mistake in allowing her to drink publicly this first time, but he again reminded himself that he had no right to interfere in what her choices were.
When her laughing broke enough for her to get words in, Emily managed, "Thrak, I think that might be a challenge!"
The krogan grunted out a laugh from across the room. "I'm game if Jokes is. Just don't be surprised if my bare ass gives one of you a heart attack!"
Thrak's words pushed her into another fit of laughing.
[Insert reply from Fischer.]
As Emily's laughter died out, she started looking back and forth between Maelstrom and Fischer. Her lower lip disappeared into her mouth, and she slowly dragged it back out, along her upper teeth, a look in her eye that Maelstrom had never seen before. Under her breath, she said, "Could be fun."
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Post by spartan560 on Jul 31, 2017 21:27:02 GMT -6
Izahm raises his drink in greeting to Fischer but replies, "I've been on my own for a very long time. I tend to err on the side of over cautious rather than waiting for a curveball from life." He then notices Fischer's exaggerated wink at the woman next to Maelstrom and can't help but think, 'Careful Fischer if Maelstrom already has a claim or will eventually claim that woman you may not want to pursue her,' he then listens to Thrak and chuckles quietly before replying, "Well that time at the Warlords place definitely gave me enough heart attacks to handle yours. After all to best eliminate your target you have to know everything about them." Izahm then sits back content to watch though he does pay more attention to the woman next to Maelstrom. 'Their chemistry is something akin to close friends but yet it's not,' he thinks, 'In time the truth may reveal itself. For now I observe record and report.'
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Post by Urdnot Thrak on Jul 31, 2017 21:37:21 GMT -6
Urdnot Thrak barely managed to retain his demeanor. His instincts told him to curl his lips, revealing his teeth in challenge. Even among krogan, though, he had learned to repress the impulse. Junior was like any whelp, krogan or otherwise. They tried to jock for position, doing what they could to get a rise or a sign of weakness out of their elders. At other times, they just wanted to talk about how impressive they were, not appreciating the time and effort their elders had put in to have the right to boast as they did. The best way to handle such things was to not acknowledge the attempts.
Still, part of him wanted to headbutt the man. Humans lacked the fortitude of krogan; a headbutt from him could probably kill or permanently disable any of those present. And they did not generally expect the same level of violent retribution natural to krogan interactions.
He was curious to see what Girlie would do about Jokes' jest, though. If called on, Thrak knew he'd come to Girlie's aid. That was, if he could beat Smiles to it. His smile grew at the thought of a brawl between all those present. It was too bad that humans tended to take such things personally.
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Post by Joe Fischer on Aug 1, 2017 4:44:56 GMT -6
Joe smiled as he strode over to Thrak.
One of these days your mouth is going to get you into trouble.
True, but it's so much damn FUN!
He took off his shirt, revealing not only his muscular physique but also his tattoos and scars.
"Your turn," he said.
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Post by Geneenh T'Loris on Aug 1, 2017 4:48:39 GMT -6
Walking through the station, Geneenh could barely keep her eyes focused on anything for more than a second. A human saying drifted into her mind, something about a child inside the establishment of a confectionary merchant.
The tech she saw was cutting edge, stuff she had only heard about. She wanted nothing more than to take one of the mechs apart to examine it, but she expected her hosts would frown on that sort of thing.
*****
Reaching her room, she saw it was small but it had everything she needed: a comfortable bed, a bathroom, a workstation and enough technical manuals to choke a krogan.
She wanted nothing more than to dive into the manuals while waiting for the ship to be modified; she knew there was enough to keep her occupied for a very long time, but it had been agreed everyone would settle into their quarters before meeting for something to eat and to discuss their next move.
*****
On her way to the meeting, she met up with Naetilia.
“Doctor,” she said, nodding in greeting.
“Miss T’Loris,” the turian said, returning the nod.
“Heading to the meeting?” she asked.
“Yes,” the doctor said, and they fell in together.
*****
Stepping into the lounge, she was greeted by the sight of Fischer standing before the krogan with his shirt off.
The pair took seats with Lysander.
Geneenh whispered, “What’s going on?”
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Post by Urdnot Thrak on Aug 1, 2017 6:49:39 GMT -6
Thrak grinned big. Without ceremony, he stripped down to a single, tight-fitting undergarment protecting his quad and other most sensitive areas. That and the shotgun he still held. Looking Fischer dead in the eye, he said, "What's the human expression? 'Go big or go home?' If one of us doesn't win at this challenge, I get to call the next." Grabbing the bottle of ryncol off the table, he said, "And I say you have to match me shot for shot at ryncol."
Laughing, he even added, "And look, Doc is here to scoop you up off the floor after."
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Post by Maelstrom on Aug 1, 2017 7:05:08 GMT -6
Maelstrom tried to show no reaction to the spectacle taking place between the former N7 and the krogan battlemaster. He found it the very height of unprofessionalism, not to mention tacky in most any company. As much as that, though, he was trying to ignore the mischievous look in Emily's eye and the way she kept looking at Fischer and then back to Maelstrom as if to encourage him to join in as well.
Simply put, the young woman was drunk. Had he known she would be so easily overserved, he would have worked with her to up a tolerance rather than allow her to show herself in public in such a state.
A moment later, their food came out, and her attention was instantly off the two men and focused completely on her food. She was eating with a gusto he had not seen from her since Lysander, Fischer, and the others had first rescued the two of them. Her manners only went so far as to keep her mouth closed while chewing and to using utensils rather than her bare fingers.
Maelstrom, on the other hand, cut off small slices of the perfectly-cooked steak, intending to savor this rare treat. It was exquisite. Simply the best he had ever eaten. The sole complaint, if he had one, was that the chef was perhaps a little too sparing in his application of spices. Maelstrom thought just a hair more seasoning would have brought out the natural flavor of the main ingredients even more, but it was hardly a major detractor from the meal.
After taking a couple bites, he turned back to the krogan and N7, wondering if Fischer would accept Thrak's challenge.
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Post by Joe Fischer on Aug 1, 2017 8:35:13 GMT -6
The rational part of Joe knew he was going to lose this contest, but it wasn't in control anymore. Once again, a challenge of overwhelming odds had presented itself, and that was all the dark thing needed to rouse from its slumber and take charge.
"Here's the thing about challenges, Thrak," he said, a predatory gleam in his eye. "You're supposed to raise the stakes, not lower them. But I suppose I can drop down to your level."
With that, he took off his boots, his pants and his boxers and stood naked before the krogan without an ounce of self-consciousness.
"If you're going to go, big guy, go all the way," he said. "Otherwise, what's the point?"
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Post by spartan560 on Aug 1, 2017 8:53:11 GMT -6
Izahm nearly spewed the drink he had just taken at the spectacle before him. He raised both eyebrows at the pair but otherwise stayed silent. Soon his food came over to the table he was at and deciding to get out if the line of fire as it were takes his food and goes over to where Maelstrom and the woman were sitting.
As he passes by he looks over and gives Naetilia a nod and says, "Hello again doctor," he then looks over at Geneenh and gives her a nod as well, "Geneenh," then continues on to the bar.
Izahm sits down with at least one seat between him and the biotic for no other reason than a shared tactic if preparedness. "So judging by the similar attire and somewhat familiar actions of the woman beside you I'd venture to guess she's part of the consequences you told me about a while ago," Izahm asks taking a bite from his sandwich savoring the blend of flavors.
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Post by Eric Lysander on Aug 1, 2017 9:37:22 GMT -6
After one of the most satisfying showers in recent memory, Eric dressed in his civilian gear and returned to the lounge. He waved off the service mechs for the moment; he had helped himself to the mini bar in his suite so he did not have a need for a drink. As for food he kept his eyes on the mechs as they provided the other team members their requests. If they were satisfied with their meals maybe, maybe he would cave in and order something for himself.
Maelstrom and Emily were seated at the bar with their drinks. She appeared slightly tipsy as she teased her more reserved companion. Izahm was enjoying his own drink, toasting Joe as he entered and sat down two seats from Emily, making his presence known as only he could. The giggling object of his attention ran with his opening and managed to goad Thrak and Joe into an impromptu stripping contest.
Eric looked on the proceedings with a puzzled expression. The server mech's programming compelled it to ply the reluctant human yet again for an order.
"Yeah - gimme a Scotch," he responded absently while Joe took off his shirt. "Make it a double..."
Then Thrak began to undress.
"... better make that a triple..."
So enthralled by the virtual train wreck unfolding before him he did not notice the mech shuffle away. Or two female non-humans sit down next to him. Until the asari spoke.
"What's going on?" asked Geenenh.
Eric blinked several times, realizing who was with him.
"I wanna say they're comparin' battle scars but tattoos don't count," he said as he tried to make sense of his compatriots' antics. "Maybe they're competin' ta see who's drunker? Which bothers me 'cause I don't think either's drunk enough yet..."
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Post by Urdnot Thrak on Aug 1, 2017 11:02:48 GMT -6
"If you're going to go, big guy, go all the way," Jokes said. "Otherwise, what's the point?"
With that, off came Thrak's underwear, which he casually tossed towards Jokes' face.
[Insert action from Fischer.]
Laughing, Thrak bellowed, "Bar mech! Two bottles of your worst ryncol!" Looking at Jokes, he shrugged, adding, "No point wasting the good booze on a drinking contest."
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Post by Maelstrom on Aug 1, 2017 11:27:34 GMT -6
"So judging by the similar attire and somewhat familiar actions of the woman beside you I'd venture to guess she's part of the consequences you told me about a while ago," Izahm said, sitting next to him.
"The Shadow Broker knows the futility of trying to find out things about me which I'm not in the mood to share," Maelstrom said. "Feel free to confirm that."
He took another sip of whiskey. "Part of the reason is that the few people who have information I did not intend to share... Well, let's just say life insurance companies don't like me."
"Oooh! Spooky!" Emily said, with an exaggerated shiver, taking only a moment's reprieve from her meal.
[Insert reply from Izahm]
Leaning over and speaking so quietly that even electronic listening devices could not hear, he said to Emily, "If we want to stay out of Cerberus' hands, we keep our secrets."
Without turning from her food,she said under her breath, "Sometimes, you're a real bastard."
Painful memories welled up inside him. Whispering back, he replied, "What else would you call a man who makes sure his parents think he's dead?"
She paused,knowing exactly what he was referencing. Taking a bteak from her food and looking at him with sympathy, she said, "Someone who cares enough that he sacrifices too much."
Maelstrom let out a huff before going back to his own meal. When Thrak whipped off his underwear, Maelstrom instinctively turned away, only to find himself looking right at Izahm.
Considering for a moment, Maelstrom said, "I've been accused of being inflexible. I don't agree that it's true as a rule, but it certainly is regarding secrecy. It keeps me alive. Here's my olive branch. Don't concern yourself with what happens in my shuttle, what has happened in my past, and what happens when I'm not with the group, and I'll do my best to be less hostile. I can't promise that I'll be your friend, though. That's a damned short list."
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