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Bears

*grumbles in gay*
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THE BEGINNING / THE CITADEL
How marvelous the Citadel was, the amalgamation of so many races gathered over the frenetic passage of space-time. The revelation that the Citadel was of Reaper-make had initially threatened to hamper the rebuilding efforts, although the resurgence of the Citadel was inexorable. Asari, Salarian, Volus, Turian – all of them could lay claim to the Citadel, just as the Reapers could; in many ways, the Citadel marked each of them and their belonging to galactic civilization. So, inevitably, the greatest galactic construct rose again, a veritable mosaic of space-cultures and species.

At its epicenter, the beautiful, marvelous, Citadel Tower, the universe’s finest monument to treachery, empty rhetoric and bluster.

“Hmm. So before we get to the real meat and potatoes, anyone want to re-address the issue of inviting a Volus to Council? That’s a no, right?” Jefferson Moreau, nearing sixty, and still deemed by some as too young by far for his status as Human Councillor. Vrolik Syndrome had continued to have its way with the man; he had foregone his cane for a wheelchair. Still, there was a presence about him, a confidence despite his ailment, and an ease in which he conducted himself in a room of snakes and titans.

The Salarian Esheel spoke – as ever – with a tongue slicked over with vitriol, poison greased upon a blade. “I’m sure the Volus would appreciate being considered an afterthought, Councillor. But, I concur, they can wait a while longer.”

“I agree.” The deep intonation of Urdnot Baraka, her form an incorporeal shade conjured by technology, worlds away in Tuchanka.

“We are in accord.” The monotonous droning of Phalanx, his holographic figure flickering next to a Quarian’s. Tali’Zorah vas Neema.

“As am I.” The Asari Irissa, tone almost immodestly sultry given the occasion.

“And me.” The Turian Quentius. Reserved, dutiful, stalwart.

Unanimous. A rare word for the Council. Indeed, political entities had a way of agreeing ever so readily to indecision and inaction. The majority of the Council looked towards Esheel without any particular prompting. There was a pattern to this, a niche telepathy almost. It was sometimes so predictable who had the grievances, and when they’d bring them up. Still, it was hard to say what the Dalatrass would approach with.


“Doubtlessly you are all aware of my supreme disapproval of Commander Markovich. Unorthodox in the most detrimental way. And, of course, directly responsible for the loss of many of my people’s finest. Former criminal according to the records, and still a criminal, as some of the more rational among us no doubt realize.”

“He came to us with information – largely verified.”

“But with no documentation as to its source, and more or less using it to strong-arm himself a ship and crew. I believe your culture involves knowing ones place and role, Quentius? He is no longer qualified for the task at hand. There are disturbing rumors of not one, but two Krogan on an infiltration squad…”

The shade of ‘Eve’ spoke, “I resent that remark, Dalatrass.”

“And worse yet, a vorcha.”

“I heard he makes an excellent gruel.”
***​

He woke to his coarse hands holding a smooth purple body bare against his own. Marko’s eyes first traced the defined outline of a Quarian’s hip, then they trailed upwards until he was looking at a bandaged bullet hole in Mora’s shoulder. He stifled a laugh at the immediate thought that ran through his head but the Quarian woke up anyways. She turned and he was met with bewildered golden eyes over her shoulder.

“Boshtet!” Mora cursed animatedly, dropping her head into her hands as realization set in. The human in the room could not help but laugh as he strode over to the bathroom for a quick shower.

“Ready for round two?” He asked jokingly from inside the smaller room, surprised and eager to see her leaning against the door frame a moment later, but ultimately disappointed when she shook her head seriously. Judging from the dossier she was holding in her hands, Marko knew it was already back to business.

“I’ll make it clear now so nothing about this gets confused. There will never be a round two.” She answered with a matter of fact tone. Mora didn’t even look at him while she spoke, her eyes quickly scanning through the last of the dossiers she was working on last night before the surprise visit from Marko had interrupted her. “The council is expecting you in the next hour and a half, as well as the rest of Tiger Squad.”

Marko nodded as the hot water came on. He had no illusions of their one-time partnership. Speaking over the shower, he asked. “You’re not coming along? It might take a while before everyone’s there you know; some of them are still on their way back from their latest ops.”

“I’ll be seeing to the Tempest and making sure she's ready to fly. You are on your own trying to justify Chacho’s position on the ship to the politicians.” The Quarian jested while she turned away. Moving from her position against the door frame to pick up the blanket from off the floor, she continued. “Now hurry up and get the hell out of my apartment.”
***​

An hour later, Markovich strode seriously through the Presidium, his old spectre armor feeling good to have back on. Various holo-signs around the upper ring of the Citadel displayed warnings about the Batarian threat. While that may seem surprisingly transparent from the galactic government, both Marko and the Council were the only souls on the grand space station who knew the extent of the threat.

He had been active in the Terminus Systems when the Batarians began pressing against their borders and he had been living on Omega when they began appearing all over the system with force. Tensions were at all a time high in the Terminus Systems and the common people were barely allowed to have an idea. The Council was adamant it remained that way of course, but Marko couldn’t help scoffing at the thought.

Moments later Markovich was in the Council Tower and soon enough – the Council Chambers. He walked to the podium, standing straight and resuming a soldier’s stance with his hands behind his back as he was greeted by both the corporal and non-corporal figures of the galaxy’s most pivotal individuals. He offered a handsome smile to the human and turian councilor but beyond that he retained a steady gaze.

“Punctual for once, Commander. I do hope the same could be said for the rest of the…squad you’ve put together.” Daltrass Escheel was the first to speak up, a sharpness in her tone that Markovich was becoming accustomed to hearing directed at him. It was no secret among those in the grand architecture that the younger human had a particular distaste for the short-living but incredibly influential race.

"My squad will be here in time, Dalatrass.” He responded with a particular cheekiness in his voice that was sure to get some blood boiling from the Salarian matriarch. Alluding to the representative that the Dalatrass had appointed to ‘make sure he was following protocol and regulations’ he continued. “I hope the same could be said for your person. I wouldn’t want to leave them behind ma’am, but we can’t keep the Batarians waiting too long.”

“That will be enough, Markovich.” The Asari councilor was quick to speak up, her tone sweet to the human even if she was using it to reprimand him. “We are all aware of the threat the Batarians have become and the necessary actions we must take to stop them. I will remind you Commander, that you were not reinstated for your humor.”

“Yes ma’am.” He nodded. The fifth human spectre did not speak any further, though the smile on his face did not falter. Now all that was left was for the rest of the newly formed Tiger Squad to arrive.



 
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Artorias

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Druin's head was pounding slight as he felt someone's hand pushing against his shoulder. He was in a boot, at a bar and he must of fell asleep at the table but he remembered talking to an Asari woman last night. His mind, groggy as it is couldn't recall anything from the night before. Perhaps his eidetic memory would remember for him one day, if he could trigger the memory himself or if something had to trigger it. He still had his possessions, meaning the bartender or whoever at least looked out for him to make sure he wasn't robbed blind while passed out. "What happened." Druin asked the Turian bartender who was shoving on him, the one that served him drinks last night. Druin wasn't much of a drinker, or someone who did anything at all. Ever since he left his Compact and traveled to the Terminus system, he was expanding his knowledge in terms of street knowledge, common knowledge. He was well versed in languages, races, standings and various other things but when it actually came to just being a 'person' he was quite awful at the thing. He never had an alcoholic beverage until he met Markovich in the Terminus system. What a bad idea that turned out to be.

"Well last night you attracted the attention of an Asari, who bought you a few drinks. It was a pretty awkward sight to watch as you didn't seem to know how to talk to her and just kind of bumbled on about something, and after a few more drinks you attempted to dance with her. She gave you, from what I saw, a pill and then you two left. Several hours later you returned, full of energy and wanting something to drink. Then you passed out right here in this spot." The Turian gave Druin some sort of idea on what happened last night, but nothing came to memory as it appeared he had too much to drink and then some sort of drug. He was a new student to the universe of regular interactions, naive in the ways people may try to mess with you or get you to do something you probably shouldn't do and this was definitely a learning experience for Druin after tonight. "My head..." Druin groaned as a glass of water was set down on the table in front of him and the Turian walked away.

Druin decided that he should check his omni-tool only to see that he was missing a large sum of his credits that he had been trying to smartly save since he had no job anymore. He obtained a portion of the credits from his previous assassinations, but now that well was running dry as it appeared he had spent most of it on a dress, a dress that was purchased last night and he had no knowledge of buying. Head still pounding as he tried to process everything that was going wrong this morning, he grabbed the glass of water and drank it down quickly, wanting more as it came to fruition that his throat was dry and feeling cracked. "Never...again." Druin groaned and placed his face into both of his hands.

The naive Drell took his leave from the Dark Star Lounge and checked the time to realize that he would be late if he didn't get a move on. After the meeting and when they would get to the ship, however long that may take, he would be in dire need of a shower. He was wearing the standard Drell attire that you would see most Drell from the Hanar homeworld of Kahje. They didn't have much of a fashion line for Drell over in Kahje besides the basic one outfit. His skin color was a light blue and he stood at the height of 5'11" with a wiry frame. Despite his appearance he was stronger than he appeared to be and shouldn't be underestimated in a hand-to-hand fight, and he can carry more than his own weight.

While making his way to the Citadel Tower, Druin went over the details in his head about everything that he knew. He had met Markovich in the Terminus System and after a long series of events he wound up being asked to join him on this 'Squad' to help fight against the Batarians. Druin was very reluctant on the idea because it sounded to him like the Compact he had with the Hanar, and that he wouldn't be able to explore the Galaxy and learn more about himself and the Galaxy. The deciding factor came down to how there might not be a Galaxy to explore if the Batarians succeed with the uplifted Yahg. A nasty species he wasn't looking forward to at all.

Making way up the Council Tower into the Council Chambers where Markovich and the rest of the Council was already waiting, it appeared that Druin was the first to arrive. Surely Mark already gave the Council whatever information on a dossier about Druin could be dug up. The only thing that they could find, unless they obtained the information from the Hanar then they would only know that he is a young Drell trained by the Hanar to be an Assassin and that he recently left his Compact to travel. Glancing at all the Councilors, he took a spot where he was directed and waited for everyone else to arrive before whatever briefing or words of encouragement they would be given.
 
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Spectre

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Sresk
-Citadel landing bay-​

"Time is my money, turian." Sresk was getting impatient as he shoved the manacled turian from behind with his left hand. The turian lurched forward and stumbled out of the side door of the dropship they were in. Sresk hopped forward out of the doorway, and stepped to the side and waved off the pilot.

"Good doin business, Trank." He croaked over the radio. "You'll see a deposit as soon as I get paid."

"Always a pleasure." The human pilot nodded to the krogan from the cockpit, and lifted his ship off again.

The Krogan turned, and lead his prisoner from the flat open dock space toward the large square door, manned by a c-sec patrolman.

Sresk grabbed the manacles of the turian, and reached out with his other hand, holding a document for the Turians retrieval. The patrolman nodded his head, and radio something to his superiors before bringing his attention back to Sresk.

"C-Sec stations waiting. Good job. I remember reading a briefing for this guy. Real piece'a work". The patrolman stepped aside to allow Sresk and his charge through the doorway.

"Screw you, pal." The turian spat at the patrolman, before recieving a tough shove from behind.

"Keep movin', scrub." Sresk groaned, leading them through the artificially lit cidatel halls until reaching the nearest c-sec station. Similar greetings happened, near wordless as Sresk handed one of the constables behind their desks his paperwork and warrant.

The turian he had with him had been wanted for illegal gun smuggling, and distribution of other illegal substances. After a short display of superior physical force, Sresk and two of his associates were able to secure the Turian, and get out with zero loss of life.

After a short wait in the lobby- which sat in front of a handful of officers sitting at desks, filing paperwork and on their terminals. A small team of c -sec guards approached from a door behind the desks., One in particular wearing a lieutenants markings on his collar. A small smile crept onto Sresk's lipsm

"Thank you for your service, as always, Sresk. Officer Idari will process the bounty after some paperwork. You're on file here, so he can just forward the amount after the forms are completed". His arm outstretched to the Krogan, to which Sresk took it firmly with a single shake. "Hope to see you again soon, Sresk".

"Long as you guys keep paying me for this stuff. You'll be seeing me". He replied. "Take care of yourself, L.T." He turned to the officer behind one of the terminals, name tag "TRINITY IDARI" on the edge of the desk she sat. He gave a passive wave to her on the way out.

"All right. Up to the council area...." He mused to himself.

After a handful of elevators and long hallways, he met the stairs that lead to the Tower. He quickly made his way up, and to the doors. He was directed to go on in, and stand to the side of the door. The doors opened, to which he saw the councilors, as well as council spectre Markovich standing in the center.

He looked to the Drell who was standing by as well, not someone he recognized. He didn't greet them, he just stood still, his attention on the Spectre as well as the councilors. The less said, the better.
 
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Sir Salty

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[BCOLOR=transparent]Shar Tempest[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Citadel - Apollo’s Cafe[/BCOLOR]​

[BCOLOR=transparent]The Citadel wasn’t much different from Omega which wasn’t much different than Illium. Simply difference was, Omega was the result of non existent security theater. While Illium and Citadel were great actors in security theater. Their actors were either in Commandos are in C-Sec, but they were no different from each other. Each virtually the same in danger.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Because the Citadel felt safer, the danger was more real than say Omega when you know bad lurks in every shadow and corner. One was paranoia, the other embodied fear in a sleek, designed city, with a holographic sky Shar stared at. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]The sound of the passing vehicles like banshee calls and yet he was drawn to looking out the water at the [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]Apollo Cafe[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]. It all seemed so simulated. The perfect life. His blood was not drawn to it. He had devoted his life to rooting out bad blood, but when everything was hidden behind fake pleasantries and simulated peaceful life it made bad blood hide deeper within security theater.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Exchanging hands in corrupt politicians and corrupt officers of the law. He should kill them all. But Marko might not appreciate the sudden blood bath or that he went on hunting the darkness. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]He didn’t trust this kind of space. But before he was needed by the team, he decided to spend his time trying to enjoy it. Even it seemed unnatural to him. Taking a sip of his coffee, his amber colored irises scanning the area. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Heading from the cafe he began to take a stroll alongside the presidium walkway. Taking the chance to put on his mask which he kept in an inner pocket of his coat and lifted his hood up.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] Making his way to the embassies, justice had always called him. They had been waiting for the council since they landed, but for him his gore couldn’t settle. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Shar wondered if he sounded xenophobic in some retrospective when he said that he couldn’t quite tell the difference between all Elcor kind. Though that was not true of all aliens. Each Krogan, Turian, Prothean, Asari, Salarian, were all vastly different. Even in terms of personal expression. Elcor seemed to lack that and even now the diplomat looked at him. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Pleasant greetings, you have returned human. Hopeful, with results?” the Orenal asked him.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Shar slid a datapad on Orenal’s desk.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“It appears a Volus was taking your name and making purchases under your account,” Shar responded.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Shock, how did this Volus get into my account?” [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Through a purchase you made playing quazar,”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Thoughtful response, I see.”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Shar bowed. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Take care, I have somewhere to be,” Shar responded. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Pleasant, have a good day human,”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Walking from Orenal, he headed off back to the presidium to make way to meet the others in the Council Tower. It appeared the Krogan and the Drell had arrived before him. Shar bowed to the both of them.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“It is good to see you,” Shar told them both. He wasn’t so sure about the Krogan, sometimes it felt more like a two ton puppy that could thrash you all around as you hold tightly onto a leash. And Druin, Shar hadn't made up his mind about him yet.[/BCOLOR]
 
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Cerulean

But does he know about second breakfast?
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"Chacho help make better food."

"I said get out of here you little roach!"

"Chacho thinks you suck at cooking. Chacho help."

"I said leave!"

A loud crash could be heard just outside a little diner in the wards.

"NARGH!"

A strikingly blue vorcha burst from the front door, followed by an angry human chef. Seeing that the vorcha was much fast, and didn't actually break anything, they gave up the chase.

Chacho ran into an alley, and hopped into a dumpster. He was safe there. No one would find him in the dark. Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the alley. Whistling he tried to casually walk out of the area. This was a nice first day back on the citadel.

Amid wandering about, he remembered that he had a meeting with the all powerful council. His friends would be there, and that excited him. "Chacho late! Hargrhrh!" He took off running. The vorcha did his best to avoid collisions, but the hanar just didn't see him in time...or the pamphlet stand...or the overweight drell. Still, it would be the best day ever.

Everyone within the immediate area gave him a look. This became doubly true when he got into the elevator. A vorcha near anything important was usually a cause for trouble, but Chacho didn't really notice or care. At least he wasn't really getting stopped by c-sec, just for the wandering.

As the vorcha entered the room, it seemed that the meeting was already in progress. "Markabitch! Chacho knows! Chacho sorry! Dumpsters hard to get out of. Chacho miss you!" He said, giving the human an enthusiastic hug.
 
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Childish Grumpino

"...before turning the gun on himself."
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None of her comrades in the STG are sad to see Osar go.

They claim otherwise, but for trained espionage operatives they really are the worst liars.

As usual, the jokes and banter had immediately come to a halt as she stepped into their barracks for the last time, replaced by the usual facade of awkward, almost icy politeness and manners that she’s had to put up with for the last two years. With the unit but never part of it, is how she once described it to a Turian soldier she was on a joint exercise with: certain things are so ingrained within Salarian culture that even a Krogan whose mother you just called ugly couldn’t knock them down to get at you.

Halfway through the half-baked farewells her already limited attention span gives up the ghost. Making a show of tapping at her OmniTool to check the time, Osar lets her eyelids drop lower in mock surprise.
“Oh hey! Look at the time! Gonna be late for the briefing with my new assignment!” The meeting isn’t for another hour yet, but they don’t need to know this. She breezes past the Lieutenant, who’s in the middle of trying to butcher an old Kirahe speech, before turning to wave at the doors to the barracks at the rest of the squad. Somehow they look even more confused than they did when she first arrived to join. “Later, fuckers! Try not to get shot, or something!”

The first breath she takes upon stepping out of the barracks and into the din of the Citadel is one of the most fulfilling ones of her life. Free at last, as the humans like to say. Free from the icy politeness and awkward manners, the attempts to pawn her off on simple assignments and guard duty whilst the rest of the squad put in the work. Free from the notion that kid gloves must be worn at all times around her, because some ancestor in ages past decided that’s the way it was to be.

She’s so busy enjoying this newfound sense of freedom that she very nearly does miss the meet-up for her new assignment.

The Presidium isn’t somewhere she’s been very often before, what with the STG being the Salarian species’ dirty little secret and all. She drifts past the statues and monuments dedicated to the soldiers and heroes of ages past, dodges through mobs of diplomats and bureaucrats to get up to the Council Chambers. Already the assembled group behind (and on) who she can only presume is Commander Markovich could only be described as… eclectic, but she’s not overly concerned by this. At least there aren’t other Salarians present to get their spacesuits in a bunch about her.

Osar plants herself down next to a particularly ill-looking Drell, and flashes him a grin.
“Hi! You look like total shit, has anyone told you that?” Her gaze turns to the rest of the squad, eyes suddenly inquisitive. “And should we be worried about the Vorcha latched onto the commander? Or is that his thing? I dunno, I’ve never worked with a human spectre before. I heard they’re weird around other species.”
 
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The Philosoraptor

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[fieldbox= , yellow]Anyone who says that Krogan are quiet creatures is obviously one who has spent his years downing Hallex with every meal. No, Tuchanka is an obnoxiously loud place, and her sons are obnoxiously loud people. Bar fighters and berserkers don't spend millions of years breeding to create a race of bookworms, after all. But the thing about Tuchanka is that, almost paradoxically, there is always somewhere to find peace and quiet. The world is vast, and uninhabitable in so many places. Yet woe be unto those who think a Krogan as weak as humanity or the Asari or even the Turians, for many a Krogan, after a solid week of battle, has wandered off into the nuclear desert and returned a day later, rested and hungry for blood. Just thinking of his homeworld's vast wastes and cathartic sandstorms put Raik Durge at ease.

But the Citadel was not Tuchanka.

This was a place of steel and plastic, of street vendors and skycars. Voices shouted left and right, advertising this kind of Volus delicacy and this new piece of Asari fashion, and did you know that Blasto XIII: Enkindle Another Day was coming out after eight years in development hell? It was too much for Durge. He shouldered through a young couple, an Asari and a Volus, on his way through the Presidium, eliciting some angry cries that cut off into yelps of alarm as the two noticed who it was that just passed through them. Durge was quick to note on his arrival at the Citadel that, for all the Council's talk of unity, there were still so few Krogan walking around the Wards, not to mention. No wonder he was ogled as he passed through security, and stopped by three C-Sec officers as he walked into the Citadel Tower. Two were Turians, one with a prosthetic arm, and the last was a human, clearly new on the job. How fitting that he was the first to talk.

"Krogan! Uh... Identification." Durge held up his arm without protest, extending his Omni-Tool for examination. The human's eyes bugged at the size of Durge's arm, and he found himself without words. The two-armed Turian sighed in exasperation and linked his Omni-Tool to Durge's.


"This will take a moment, sir."

"I'll wait."

"Right..." The human and Turian walked away, leaving Durge alone with the cripple. They stood in tense silence for a minute, before Durge let out a barking cough.

"How'd you lose it?"

The officer didn't miss a beat. "Palaven. Went down under a pack of Husks. My men pulled me out."

"Minus the arm."

"Obviously." The officer did not seem at all interested in continuing. Something about him tickled the back of Durge's memory...

"I remember you."

"Funny. I don't remember you."

"Menae, '86. Joint Turian and Krogan forces assaulted the Reaper jump point there. We broke through a few days before the Crucible fired." Durge placed a hand on the Turian's prosthetic shoulder. "Captain Adamas. It's good to see you survived." The Turian's eyes widened, and he drew in his breath sharply.

"Warlord. I... I thought you went in the second wave." Adamas placed his one remaining hand on Durge's own shoulder. "You held the Husks off long enough for the fortifications to be rebuilt. Because of you, we had the extra time for our dreadnought to arrive and provide orbital support."


Durge snorted. "That was just luck. My battle group had better firepower than yours did. We killed five Husks for every Krogan they took. When we broke, I managed to escape back to the evac point by marching east from the encampment, then circling back when I had them on me. Lost my squad, got shot more than once, and took me the better half of a week, but I managed."

"Nevertheless, it's good to see you, Warlord." The other two officers came back at that moment, and saw the ex-comrades exchanging stories.


"Right. You've been cleared, sir...?" The human was taken aback.

Adamas spoke first. "Escort this Krogan to the Council Chambers, Corporal. No unnecessary stops. He is who he says he is."

With no small amount of confusion, the younger Turian accompanied Durge all the way up to the top of the Tower, and left him as quickly as possible. He entered without incident, and found himself in the company of what would soon be his new squad: A Drell assassin, a human Justicar-wannabe, a young-blood Krogan, and, Vaul be praised, a Vorcha . After his encounter at the base of the Tower, Durge found himself preferring the company of himself, and stood apart from the others. He did, however, offer a nod of the head to his captain, currently in the fierce grip of the Vorcha.

"Markovitch."[/fieldbox]
 
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Tyrannosaurus Rekt

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Decimus looked at his chair. It wasn’t anything important. It was one chair in thousands on the Citadel and millions in the galaxy. It was a singular chair. And, honestly, it had been painfully uncomfortable. Probably made for humans and their, ah what were they called, spines. Right. Spines. Still, he’d sat in that chair for years. The position was honorary, at best. The meritocracy had felt that he’d done a “good” job and needed a “position more befitting his personality.” He knew what that meant. He was too much of a space-bumpkin to line into their perfect military formations. Yet, he’d done good work here. If anything, he’d furthered the turian agenda with more ease than his militant brethren.

“Should I light it on fire?” Dec questioned, looking at the ceiling of the Citadel. He was in a long, flat office. With his aforementioned chair, desk, workspace, two chairs for guests, and a very unnecessary shelf of turian artifacts. People would continue to ask him what they were, and he’d shrug. They were important, sure. But honestly, the black thing that looked like seared salarian was not in his memory banks. For fun, he’d sometimes make up what they were. One of the relics, according to him, was a Reaper control device. The smarter of those that visited him would stare until he laughed. The more gullible ones would eye it with awe and reverence. Honestly, he thought it might be a turian remote from times before hard light terminals.

“Probably shouldn’t. Seems a fitting tribute, though.” Dec hesitated. “Also, I could ruffle the fronds on the Citadel’s Emergency Team.”

Dec was halfway through trying to work human matches when his door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. There in the entranceway stood another turian diplomat, Kaenus. Upon seeing what Dec was up to his mandibles flexed.

“Don’t judge me, I’m trying to make a fitting tribute.” Dec tried to strike the match a few more times. “Really, humans need to learn to oxidize things better.”
“You know that is an archaic form of lighting things on fire?”
Kaenus approached. He was about the same height as Decimus, but he was lither in frame, sporting the more common turian build. Dec couldn’t help that he was born into the military on an outpost that required him to be stronger than most. Also, his genetics were deeply flawed.
“I’m aware, but it seemed suiting. I’m moving on from one stage of my life to the other.”
“Did you burn the colony you worked on?”
“No, of course not.”
“The seat you held briefly on Palaven, then?”
“There may have been a reason they expedited me here.” Dec turned towards Kaenus. “Ah, look, I am about to be shipped off into dark space under the command of a human specter. Human. I would rather be known as the one who lit his seat on fire rather than ‘do you remember that turian? Right. The fat one?’”
“You’re not fat.”
Dec stared.
“Humans do not understand turian anatomy.”
He huffed. “Sometimes, turians don’t understand their own anatomy. Anyway, I’m doing this and then I’m joining the specter.”
“You know, you should probably wait until you’re a second away from leaving the Citadel to do that. You don’t want to get arrested before you leave.”
Dec sighed, flicking the unused match in the trash. “Fair enough. But you haven’t talked me out of it. You’ve just delayed the inevitable.”
“Whatever I can do to get the conversation to shift from your craziness to your noble sacrifice.” Kaenus looked up. “I’m going to miss you Seargent.”
“Call me Dec,” he said. “I mean that’s what you’d always call me when we were alone.”
“I know, but this seems more formal.”
“Right, you talking me down from lighting my chair on fire is far more formal than me—“
Kaenus whacked Dec on the nose. “You’re going to be late.”
Dec rubbed his nose and huffed. “You better hope I die in dark space, Kaenus, because if I don’t—“
The other turian leaned against Dec’s non-ignited chair. “I really hope to see that.”

- - -

No one had flinched when Decimus had worked his way through the proper channels to the Council. He was a familiar figure. It also didn’t hurt that he was dressed in a military officer’s uniform with enough markings and awards to firmly plant him into the pool of “important enough turians.” He walked through the doors and approached the Council. There was already a small gathering formed. He looked up at Councilor Quentius. How much say had the turians actually had on this team?

Currently, the only one present that he was sure didn’t have some sort of vendetta against his species was a salarian. She, he, honestly he couldn’t tell, could be used as a shield against the others. There were humans, who were hot or cold depending on how much they loved the First Contact War. Then there was a vorcha, who by all means, usually did what the krogan did. And then there were two krogan. Two. Krogan. One of them looked younger than the other. While they’d fixed the genophage and the krogan had helped the turian on keeping Palaven away from the Reapers, Dec would still encounter the occasional krogan that attempted to head butt him to death about the genophage. Oh, right, and there was also a drell. That was a moot point. Honestly, who invited the drell? Ah, yes, Specter Markovitch did.

Dec cleared his throat. “Seargent Caeril reporting for duty.”
 
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Applo

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[BCOLOR=transparent]The commander studied his opponent’s forces carefully. The battle had been hard fought with both sides taking losses though the commander had to admit that his troops had had the worst of it. Still he hadn’t given up hope and now he saw an opportunity to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Knight to E7”[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] said the portly human that sat across the board from Kalo. With barely a flicker the small holographic trotted primly across the board. [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]“Your move my friend”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]For a while Kalo appeared to be deep in thought, talking quietly to himself as he stared at the board, several times he appeared reached for a piece only to let his fingers hover over it. When the Quarian did eventually look up again something about his body language told his opponent that the match was over.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“That was a nice move but it would seem that you missed my...sorry what do you call this piece again, a Chaplain? Anyway now if I move it to E5 think that is how you say, checkmate yes?”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Kalo’s opponent stared at the board dumbstruck, eventually reaching across the chequered battle field that lay between them and using one solitary finger, gently tipped over his King.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Congratulations on your victory, I don't think I’ve ever met a Quarian that has played chess before, let alone with such skill. Tell a curious old fool, wherever did you learn to play like that?”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Oh one of the ships I crewed on during my pilgrimage was Captained by a human very keen on this game of yours”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Hmm, well it seems you were an excellent pupil, If you ever feel like granting me a rematch please do send me a message.”[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] Kalo’s Omni tool let of a little ping [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]“I believe those are you winnings, now if you’ll excuse me there are matters to which I must attend.”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Kalo watched as the man disappear into one of identical structures that made up the various offices, embassies and businesses on the presidium before he dared to check his omni-tool, a thousand watt smile bouncing of the inside of his environment suit all the while.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“I do wish that you would not include me in your deceptions brother.”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Looking up Kalo saw his Blinky’s glowing eye staring down at him reproachfully. Theoretically Blinky face, such as it was shouldn’t have been able to transmit any emotion, and yet somehow it just did. Kalo put it down to growing up a Quarian meant having to get very good at reading emotions generally.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Blinky it is fine, just a harmless little trick on a greedy man. Besides it was a close match, no one will suspect a thing, I actually thought you might have lost your touch there.”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“I thought it advisable to make some mistakes to allay your opponent’s suspicion.” Blinky said with what Kalo knew to be a close to irritation as his brother ever got. “At any rate we must go, we are already late for our appointment with the Council and Commander Markovitch.”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]The brothers cut an odd pair as they made their way through the plaza’s of the presidium. A Quarian marine and a old Geth combat platform were not common sights for the various dignitaries, diplomats and hangers on that roamed its streets. Twice the pair were stopped by C-sec agents but Kalo’s military uniform and Blinkys efficiency in providing excessive amounts of documentation proving that they had every right to be there meant that the brothers were quickly waved on with little fuss and soon found themselves in the elevator that led to the Council chamber.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Ready brother”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Blinky said nothing, his eye flashed several times[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Come on, don't be like that, have I ever lead us wrong?”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Would you prefer that list to be sorted chronologically or categorically? Regardless it is not a short list.”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]"A simple yes would have sufficed” Kalo chortled “Anyway we are here now, this is our chance to be like the great Kal’Reeger or Tali’Zorah brother, is that not too good an opportunity to pass up.” [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Just by your examples there is a fifty percent chance of us being destroyed Kalo”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Ha, then there is also a fifty percent chance that we will become admirals” retorted Kalo as the pair made their way across the chamber. Blinky looked at him. “It sounded better in my head.”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Upon seeing that the council chamber was already fairly well occupied Kalo’s confidence faltered for a second as he realised just how late he and Blinky were. Deciding that it was maybe a time to play the good soldier Kalo forgot the theaticral little bow he had been planning an instead ripped of textbook salutes to the council and Markovitch. Introductions done, Kalo and Blinky looked at the other people waiting in the chamber and silently chose to stand next to the Turian soldier on the basis that A: They didn’t looked annoyed by everyone else in the room and B: Weren't Krogan.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]"So, you ready to kick some butt..." Kalo paused to look at the Turians uniform "...Seargent?" [/BCOLOR]​
 
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Sir Salty

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[BCOLOR=transparent]Silently he had been watching those that poured in. His time in the Terminus system made his sixth sense alert when the Vorcha came into the picture. Though Shar also respectfully try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, the Vorcha had been known for their own atrocities, usually with Krogan counterparts barking orders. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Though the Vorcha had something in common with the Salarian, overactivity. Bursting with personal energy making themselves known. While another Krogan came into the picture, much older than the one already standing here before he arrived. Then came the Turian, Shar didn’t quite have a good grasp on his first impressions of the Turian. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Neither did he with the Geth and Quarian, that he certainly believed had caused heads to turn in the Citadel. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Still with that said, first appearances were nothing. They didn’t speak to the inner integrity of one’s spirit. This was what he had to gauge. Their spiritual, universal energy. The language they all spoke as children of the celestial universe. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Heading out of silence and out of the shadows that he had watched them walk up to. Shar took off his mask and stared at the new arrivals, with amber eyes that in the light of the citadel looked like churning, molten lava.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Shar bowed to them.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Greetings,” Shar told them, rising from his bow, hands together like a prayer position, “I thank you for all answering the call. It speaks volumes to heed the call of duty and action. I welcome you into our fold, I answer to the name Shar Tempest.”[/BCOLOR]
 

Artorias

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Druin's head was wanting to explode from all the activity that was beginning to pour into the council chambers and it all started with the Vorcha they had picked up from the Terminus system coming in late and giving Mark a hug. This was his first and last hangover he would ever experience as long as he lived. Alcohol was not worth the amount of pain his head was in, no matter how great it felt at the time. The consequences didn't justify the actions. He barely noticed the Salarian take a seat next to him until she abruptly said hello and then insulted him in the same greetings. He hadn't showered, and had fallen asleep in a bar so he wasn't aiming for the best look at the moment. He was aiming to live for now.

"Thanks." Druin responded slowly, with a hand to his forehead and black pupils staring at the white tiled floor. How was there nothing invented yet for every race to take some sort of pill that got rid of hangovers? Out of all the stupid things scientists have created over the years they didn't make some hangover pill that was sold in bars, or stores?

"Druin Thail...a pleasure to meet you." While the Salarian had spoken something 'rude'. It was the truth that he appeared like shit because he felt like shit at the moment. Despite her blatant remark, he would show some level of respect. How long this level of respect lasted all depended on the one sitting next to him.


He would also shake her hand, but he might vomit from the movement.

Salarians were known to never shut up, and always talk fast and right to the ball the woman who he didn't even know was asking about Chacho clinging to the Commander. "Chacho is an odd one, but aren't all Vorcha?" He didn't look up from the floor. Feeling that if he moved his head and eyes too quickly everything would go into a spinning mess and he would end up vomiting right there.

Slowly the blue tinted Drell moved his head with eyes squinted to look up at the group that was gathering. Krogans. Two of them to be exact, a Geth and a Quarian. The Turian had caught his eye, or more about the shape of the Turian. "I've never heard of or seen a Turian with...that." He pointed to the Turian's stomach.

While he was an Assassin by trade, and fighting large groups of Batarians and Yahg might not require an Assassin's touch. He appeared to be the only qualified marksman/sniper out of the group. He could be wrong and maybe one of the Krogans was a crackshot.
 
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Childish Grumpino

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The Salarian’s hand snaps out like a rocket, long spindly fingers enveloping the Drell’s hand as she shakes it rapidly.
“Never met a Drell before! Remind me to pick your brain about that eidetic memory thing you guys have! I’m Corporal Osar Eui, STG. I think. At least I was. They might have just fired me. Insubordination or something.” Osar follows Druin’s gaze to the Vorcha latched onto the commander, shrugging. “Dunno, I haven’t met too many Vorcha either. Not for long enough, anyway. They have a tendency to explode when I meet them. Probably something to do with the impact grenades. That I fire at them.”

Evidently a curious fellow, Druin’s already turning his attention to the Turian standing amongst them. “Yeah, you won’t have,” Osar explains quietly, “non-standard genetics aren’t something the Hierarchy is known for. Quite the ragtag outfit the commander’s assembled.” Osar shrugs, leaning back in her chair. “Humans are unorthodox. I like it.”
 
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Dovahkiin

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"C'mon, I just need a few thermal clips. That's all."

With a roll of his eyes, the human shopkeeper heaved a sigh, exasperated, and leaned his elbows on the counter between them. "Look, lady," he began, "I'm about to my wit's end talking about this. I told you -- no credits, no clips."

Emeris strolled to the counter with slow, measured steps, splaying her hands on its surface to pin her gaze to his. "Trust me, I heard you the first time," she murmured, then gave the man a small, albeit forced, smile. "I'm saying I can pay later."

Eyes asquint, the man studied the asari. It took a beat for realization to brighten his features, and he shifted himself backward, brows furrowed as he directed a finger at her; Emeris' initial reaction was dread. Please no C-Sec. "Wait a minute... Aren't you that bounty hunter? Shouldn't you have enough credits?"

The flashback was immediate; Purgatory bar, a shower of alcohol, buying rounds for everyone in the bar, drunken flailing of limbs in what could've only been a pitiful attempt at dancing, sneaking into the VIP lounge only to promptly be kicked out and cursed at. After a damned hard battle against a sleazy red sand dealer and collecting a hefty sum off his bounty, going to the Purgatory bar and blowing a few credits on drinks seemed a terrific idea at the time -- and an awful one the next morning. It was weeks ago, but her funds were still crippled by the intoxicated endeavor. Can't even look at ryncol without tasting vomit and regret.

Retreating from the counter with a groan, she couldn't help but run a hand over her face in mortification. "I mean -- yes," she managed. "But I'm not a credit machine."

"Apparently.” Folding his arms over his chest, the man did little else than cock a brow.

The asari sucked in a steadying breath with a shake of her head, and she worked up the will to return the entirety of her gaze to him. "Listen, I can pay you back. With interest. I just don't have any credits right now." Frown digging deep into his face, the man showed no sign of letting up. "Please," she coaxed.

He delved into pensiveness, and as his expression soured, Emeris needn't hear him speak to know his answer. He sighed.

"Take 'em."

Brows perked, Emeris watched as the man whirled around to swipe up the thermal clips. But just before his fingers could skim the surface of the clips, violet wisps crawled their way around them, upheaving the clips from the security of their containers to rocket them into Emeris' outstretched hand. Unamused, the man turned and blinked. She brandished a grin. "I appreciate this," she told him, honest, his response being a grunt.

Clips in hand, she turned on her heels to leave with a wave. "With interest!" she reminded him from over her shoulder.

The man resumed his lean on the counter and grumbled. "Right."



-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Had she even really needed the clips that badly? Maybe not, but when she was called to join a group assembled by none less than a Spectre, preparing -- over-preparing, if possible -- felt dire. It'd be a first for Emeris to work entirely beneath someone else's commands, and that was enough cause for her to be nervous.

Ascending the steps to the Council, Emeris used every ounce of willpower she could to prevent her hands from shaking in spite of the nervousness clenching her throat. A shaky breath slipped from her lips. Okay. She inhaled. Okay, okay, okay, she thought. Stop it, woman. You're here for a reason. Just then, the peak of the stairs give way to the group, already mingling with one another, and then the all-powerful Council. Poised in their chairs, they emanated authority -- so much so, it's almost suffocating.

Emeris' eyes flickered to Irissa, the asari. She hasn't spent much of her time in recent years with her own kin, but standing in front of someone as influential as Irissa merited at least some level of respect. Hands tucked in front of her, Emeris bowed.

Straightening, V'nasava shifted her attention to the group: a drell, turian, two krogans, vorcha, a quarian-geth duo, salarian, and two humans. The drell looked sickly, like he was teetering on the edge of vomiting, while the salarian beside him was a sharp contrast as she beamed with energy. Not entirely unlike the salarian, the vorcha all but screamed enthusiasm; he clung to the human spectre like detaching from the poor guy wasn't even an option, and Emeris gave a small, humored smile. The two krogans behaved themselves like krogans; one, however, seemed much older than the other, and he carried himself like he'd experienced more than his fair share of battles, while the other looked... familiar. Though she rifled through her brain, his identity evaded her mind. Dressed in uniform, Emeris took the liberty of assuming the turian was a sergeant -- a well-fed sergeant at that. The quarian and geth seemed a whimsical duo, and given the strained history between the two races, it was nice seeing the two in alliance. The other human was the embodiment of tranquility; his expression was void of any whisper of emotion and he moved like every one of his motions had purpose. Such impassiveness perturbed Emeris. But still, she approached the fold with a grin.

"Emeris V'nasava," she greeted, dipping her head. She opened her mouth to speak again, but the words were quick to die in her throat, and in their place she breathed a laugh. "And I'm terrible at introductions."
[/hr][/hr]
 
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Tyrannosaurus Rekt

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"Yes, uh, Seargent," he said to the quarian. That was actually quite a good guess. Most other species tried to place him in the navy. Of course, it never helped that most turians were in the navy. Sigh. "The question is, do batarians have butts? What anatomically defines a butt? I've heard this saying quite a bit, and honestly, all I know is that it is a certain place on the backside of certain species." He cleared his throat a moment. "But, well met, quarian. At least we can complain about the food, together." He softly laughed. He didn't know how that sounded to other species, or if their translator tweaked it. Hopefully, it was jovial. He looked beyond the quarian to accompanying geth. Right. That was a thing, wasn't it? To each their own. "So, what's your name and your--uh-- counterpart's name?"


Dec would have been content to speak to the quarian further, when the Drell sidled up to him. He turned his head towards the amphibious-like male. Male? Why didn't other species have telling fronds? It would just make life easier. It was then that drell pointed to his midsection. Dec let out a snort. "Yes, well, you're a different shade of blue than some drell," he said. "Turians can also look different from each other." They also had guns. Large guns. "I didn't grow up on Palaven. So, my exoskeleton is not as rigid as some others."

The salarian piped in about that moment. He'd missed his/her/their name. "Ah, yes, I forgot how conversational and welcoming salarians are. Pleasure, to meet you." His mandibles flexed, and his tone was quite flat. "Right, genetics." And yes, the salarian was right. The Hierarchy was very particular about what entered the upper echelon of their ranks, and what left them. But he really didn't care to discuss that. It was as if none of these people had ever seen more than one turian before.

Dec then cross his arms over his chest. "Specter, did you hire this team based on a simple statement: 'I have a turian that needs to be harassed. Please. Join me.' Along with a simple tagline: 'also include clingy vorcha.'"

It was then that an asari entered. Right, a military team wouldn't be complete without one of them. Neither would an exploration team. Or a science team. Or an archeology team. Or a nightclub. The galaxy so loved their asari. Dec was quite lukewarm on the species. He might be the only turian that was, but he'd had his fair amount of time aboard the Citadel. All those chats that his other teammates had about the asari back when he was stationed on his outpost didn't live up to the real thing. They had nice fronds, but beyond that they were overhyped. Though, this one seemed to have a sense of humor. That was--new.
 

Aero Blue

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Political expertise and unique facial physiologies (or, granted, Quarian face-masks) generally allowed the members of the Council to be decidedly stone-faced and obscure when they wanted to be. So perhaps they didn’t want to be. Perhaps they wanted their disdain (or, in the case of Moreau, amusement) to be palpable. Or perhaps the unruly lot was just that bad.

In any case, it took a full moment before self-awareness kicked in, and the Council members alike resumed facades of tranquil inner-balance.

Welcome.” Councillor Quentius was the first to speak. To his credit, he did not yet allow the innate biases of Turian military culture to influence his tone towards the assembled. “You are the chosen members of the…

So close.

T-Tiger Squad.” The Turian finished, a subtle tinge of shame coloring his voice as he uttered the name.

As if in rehearsed routine, Irissa continued, “Straight to the point. The Hegemony has resurfaced. Militant Batarian with a keen dislike for… more or less every race assembled here today. Their fleets encroach upon the Terminus Systems, and their presence has been noted on outermost locations. Furthermore, Spectre Markovitch has uncovered the presence of yahg.

The Dalatress received the proverbial baton, “ Keenly intelligent, brutally savage. Their potential for galactic havoc; catastrophic. Most disturbingly, the Batarian have somehow managed to render them subservient. You’ve been selected because – admittedly – subtlety in this mission is a means, but not an end in and of itself.

Uncover how the Batarian managed to render the Yahg subservient. If possible, undo it.

As well, deliver unto core aspects of their military infrastructure severe damage. Diminish them, by any means necessary.


And finally, the shade of Tali’Zorah, “Your first order of business will be to arrive upon the Second Flotilla, a platform in which we can discuss further strategy and tactics.

Godspeed, Tiger Squad.” For just a moment, a flicker of suppressed laughter betrays itself upon Jefferson Moreau’s visage.

OOC: With the Geth and Quarian establishing themselves upon their homeland of Rannoch, the Flotilla no longer serves the migratory purpose it once did.

This incarnation of the Flotilla, lesser in size than the original, but a formidable collection of vessels nonetheless, serves a vital purpose of galactic security. The Terminus Systems are historically removed from Council Laws - with the induction of the Quarian into the Council, the Flotilla is a wandering entity of peace, meant to deter acts of galactic violence.

Round Objectives: The next round will involve boarding the ship itself, and the journey to the Terminus Systems/Second Flotilla. Now, as a bit of fun shenanigans, you are in fact free to create members of the small auxiliary crew of the Tempest... provided you don't go insanely overboard. Godspeed you crazy bastards.
 

Bears

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Romance is definitely up there. I'm generally open minded though.

Vorcha...smelled weird. It wasn't a smell that the commander could compare to something more common, it was just plain out odd. Or perhaps it was Chacho specifically who had such a strong odor, the human spectre didn't know, after all hugging vorchas wasn't exactly a past time of the man. Still he made no attempt to break the embrace and offered a smile and nod to each individual who arrived.


Marko was fully aware that the team he was allowed to assemble was far from orthodox. His time in the Terminus system really made him realize just how mind numbingly boring his previous squads had been. He formed Tiger Squad in a way that he'd avoid that this time around. Mora simply made sure the individuals he picked out were capable enough to justify bringing them on the mission.

Judging from the Council's reactions however it seemed like Mora's efforts didn't matter much. They looked as rag-tag as they could get. Perhaps embarassed by the scene, the members of the Council soon filtered out into another room leaving the newly formed fire team in the grand architecture. Chuckling he patted Chacho's head before pulling him off and turning to the others. He offered each one a handshake and a handsome smile, even the Salarian.

"You heard em -- our mission is an important one. " He began coolly, continuing on with a confident demeanor. "As you can all tell we aren't exactly a what's expected of a special ops squad. I mean christ we're gonna have a goddamn Vorcha working Mess. Still, I believe we will perform just fine."

"I expect everyone's cooperation both on and off the battlefield as your Commander. Show me respect and I'll go out of my way and do the same. If anyone has even an inkling of a problem with that I advise you step out now." He waited for a moment and smiled widely as nobody moved an inch. "Good then, I look forward to seeing you all in action. Head to docking bay D28 ASAP and get yourself aboard and situated the Tempest. She might be a bit on the smaller side but she's a helluva spacecraft."

With that the Commander took his leave. He was the first to arrive in the bay and first of the Tiger Squad to board their ship, the SSV Tempest. The only Alliance ship not named after a city, it was a prototype sporting down-scaled but state of the art systems. He was greeted at the opening of the bridge by Mora and a younger ginger woman who was clearly still surprised to see what a Quarian looked underneath the helmet. She was the pilot that Mora chose - Elizabeth Bailey. From what Mora told him she was incredibly talented but relatively inexperienced with sharing a ship with aliens.

He chuckled at the sight and offered each a greeting before moving on to the rather openly spaced front of the ship. Looking through the visual feed he waited to watch as the rest of the Tiger Squad to get aboard.
 

Spectre

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Their intro felt lengthy, and Sresk began shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Really he just wanted to get going. Impatient as he was, he was Not about to begin complaining about 'process' in a council meet. He had plenty of questions- like how his name came up for a list of contacts for a mission like this, and who, or what- oh what- was a 'tiger'..? Regardless, he took the human commander's hand with a solid grip as he came by and briefly greeted everyone. Sresk didn't really know anything about this human commander, other than he had been a SPECTRE. That was enough to tell for now, what kind of person his new commander was going to be. The invitation was vague as ever, but he never imagined he'd have been attached to a Citadel special mission.

The group was indeed an eclectic one. Round pale blue eyes with widened slits darted across the individuals who had come in and were now being addressed. All of which must have been under the employ of the Citadel Council in one form or another. Military, R&D, Law Enforcement, who knows what else. His eyes passed a 'young' Salarian, a stocky Turian, a Drell, then a Quarian and Geth duo, the blue vorcha, and a krogan warlord... None of them looked to out of the ordinary. However his eyes last stopped on the Asari in the group. Of all the people in the room, this was the one something ticked in him for. Slitted eyes squinted at her subconsciously under his bronzy headplates.

The others in the room he had never seen before, of course save for the councilmembers on vids. Though something stuck with him about this asari female. Had he seen her before? His posture shifted once again- and he crossed his solid arms across his breastplate. Though thankfully the human SPECTRE took command and began his intro. Within the first few moments, a slow burn of frustration crawled up his back. The man was already asking for respect. Mulled around quickly in his head, Sresk figured the man was a SPECTRE, so he's probably a competent warrior at least. Though it still didn't matter. This was his mission, and as a Krogan, he'd surely provide security and muscle. It was always the same. Always the same seemed to pay pretty well, though. So he said nothing, and looked to the other Krogan in the room before the group was 'dismissed'.

He slowly sauntered out, not yet sure what to think. He was happy enough that he was going to be getting well paid, and very happy that it was putting him into the fight. But at what cost? The Citadel holding his leash still, but through this, he may garner some good experience to bring back to his clan.

He exited quickly, not saying much to anyone. He would keep to himself until getting to the Tempest. As a Krogan, he wasn't naturally a social creature with strangers, but he would make his attempts to meet with the team, and the ship crew once the mission actually began.

Taking a cab to his hotel accommodation, he quickly packed and checked out, and headed straight for the docking bays. Really all he had was a moderate sized hard black rectangular case with his small arms, a small crate for his armor and plating, and a backpack with a few days worth of clothes. On his way to the docking bays, he didn't allow himself to take too much of the scenery in. Long missions in space weren't his favorite... But being able to bust heads on payroll however, was one of his favorite things ever. So the tradeoff for him was pretty imbalanced. You could maybe call it something of excitement, or anxiety, but whatever it was, he began to look forward to the trip. The mission.

Towers passed by in his peripherals. Bright, silvery towers with row upon row of glass viewports. Fountains and greenspaces dotted the centers of the ringlike station. The skycab stopped at the destination outside the dock terminals, and Sresk hopped out of the door with haste. He patted the side of the cab, and gestured to the trunk to the driver, and the trunk popped open. With a quick heave, the Krogan had his crate, small gun case affixed to the top, and his bag out of the trunk. He waddled over to the driver and gave a 'thumbs up'. One of his favorite human gestures. Payment was automated, and the cab sprung to life and made it's way to it's next fare.

Trudging through the squared halls, he passed through his final inspection to get to bay D28. Obviously requiring strict ID and baggage scans, by the last gate, he was getting fidgety and impatient. However as he finally reached the pier, and crossed the gantry to the Tempest's door, all of that frustration began to wash away. Not only was he about to start his duties, but he was also onboard one of the most technically advanced ships he's ever been on. The doors remained open behind him for a few moments, and inside the crew was getting situated casually.

He saw an ensign begin approaching, and he assumed it would be someone who would tell him where his quarters would be. Due to the nature of the mission, the citadel wouldn't send out a ship schematic. The human approached and gave a nod, and gave their rank and name. It brought on an awkward silence, as Sresk didn't really reply.

"So would you like me to show you to your quarters?" The ensign piped up nervously, trying to break the awkward silence. Probably not used to dealing with many krogans.

"Sounds good. Just need somewhere to stow my gear." he replied as politely as he could.

"Right away. You're going to be on the crew deck," the ensign took a look at a file on a datapad and nodded. Sresk was given the deck level, and his bunk number.

"Cargo bay in the belly?" the Krogan asked, as he had no intention to going to the bunks any time soon.

"Aye, sir, they are. That's going to have the rapid deployment vehicles, as well as the armory."

"Thanks, ensign." again, the Krogan being more polite than he wanted to be. He said this simultaneously walking toward the elevator column past the CIC.

He punched in the cargo button in the elevator and descended into the ship's belly. Exiting, he made his way into the cargo rooms to secure his gear, and to check out the rapid deployment vehicles- if they had a typical assortment of Mako, Kodiak, or whatever else.
 
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Chile

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They called it diving. It was a way to reclaim the trauma that had been done to them, a way to dam up a flood of suffering and terror. But that wasn’t the only reason why they called it diving. Aerin was busy pouring through the visual recordings of a Blue Sun Loki mech. To all of her comrades around her, she was simply holding a lump of metal and circuitry- the mech’s “head”- staring into the two circular red rings that were no longer lit. Inside she was doing so much more.
While diving she would lose herself, doing exactly as her conscious brain commanded of her moments before she slipped into the digital world. Surrounded by a whirlpool of moving data, she found her way into the mech’s memory core, fortunately intact. The video feed played back to the same time on the previous day in almost an instant, Aerin had scanned it all. She surfaced and blinked before turning the mech’s head in her hands, trying to spot another clue in vain.
“Did you see him?” A familiar voice from above and behind her asked.
“No. Not this time.”
“Damn. I think we’re getting closer,” her comrade and dear friend, Damien hopped off a largely intact Ymir mech, landing beside her, “You can take a break Aerin, you’ve done enough for today.”
“Thanks.”
The young woman stood up and eclipsed the dusty haired Damien, Adrestia’s chosen leader, and her ‘adopted’ little brother in arms. He was only a year younger than her, but side by side the contrast between them couldn’t have been more stark. Most people could see the age in her eyes. She smiled at Damien and rubbed at her upper lip, crusty with blood. That familiar flash of concern flickered in his eyes before they parted ways. She strode quickly across the hangar bay recently ‘renovated’ for their firefight. Everywhere they went ended up a combat zone. The Blue Suns thought they could trap Adrestia and clean up for Cerberus, maybe earn a brownie point or two, or it was entirely possible that Cerberus orchestrated the entire thing. They all failed to remember one thing; cornered space rats always feel trapped. The only way out was right through the enemy.
Aerin found a wall free of debris and pressed her back against it before slumping hard against the ground. She breathed deeply, clutching a chunk of her hair loosely between her fingers. Tired as always, she already felt the itch to dive again. She could surf the extranet, look for more jobs, watch some vids of the Citadel, a place she had dreamed about visiting for so long. Damien’s worried look flashed before her eyes which caused her to feel colored with guilt. The Atropos system was taking its toll on her brain, and everyone in Adrestia could see it; diving out of combat was costly, but it was also an escape.
The hard clacking of familiar boots made their way towards the young girl and stopped right at her feet.
“You look like shit.”
“Hey
Vorchat.”
Locks of rusty red spilled past the shoulders of Vorchat as she stooped to face Aerin at eye level, those meddling green eyes were always the same. Vorchat wasn’t her real name, it was a nickname awarded by the rest of the squad after a peculiar incident involving a high speed chase, her cleverly timed hack of the emitters on an enemy Vorcha’s armor turning them into accelerometers, and a holographic billboard. Thus,
Vorchat.
“Here drink this,” she passed a canteen over to Aerin, “Oh and look at this.” Vorchat tried to hand Aerin a data-pad, but the raven-haired girl only stared back blankly. “Oh right, right. Sorry.” Vorchat pulled the data-pad back into her lap and began to speak. “It’s a contract from someone named Mora'Xaen. Sounds alien. Says she’s heard about you and wants you on some super top secret mission, and she’s offering an assload of cash.”
“Do you always have to say it like that? That just sounds gross.”
“I’m just sayin’ girl, an assload is a
lot of money. With that kinda’ dough, we can double down on our efforts on the Blue Suns and Batarians, keep rescuing space rats like us. I thought that’s why you started operating solo?”
“Yeah… but Damien doesn’t like it.” Aerin turned to look across the hangar bay at her friend, omni-tool on his arm activated and scanning salvage, blanked out while diving.
“Aerin, none of us like it,” Vorchat’s voice softened, then she stood up abruptly with a mock frown on her face, “The Citadel is too far from Omega anyways. I guess I’ll have to turn this rich bitch down for you.”
Aerin almost didn’t hear it, and it took her a moment before she had finally realized what her friend had said.
“Citadel?!”



Nothing could have prepared her for the Citadel, and the Presidium was even more awe-inspiring in the aged eyes of the 17 year old girl. She must’ve looked like a spooked animal to all the upper-class denizens walking about the boardwalk by the gardens. The magnanimous artificial sky brought her back to her days on Elysium. She also admittedly felt impressed by the sense of galactic presence, but she had to be careful, because here she was a walking Cerberus experiment with their patented equipment in her head. At any point in time, C-Sec could lawfully apprehend her if she misstepped and they found out who she was.
Soon she found herself facing that very predicament when she got to the Docking Bay. She approached the C-Sec checkpoint almost as if she wanted to turn back, hoping that an excuse from behind would halt her inching approach. She stepped into the scanner as its neon light washed over her entire body, checking her identity and any anomalies. Right before she thought she was in the clear, the C-Sec officer held up a hand and commanded her to stop.
“Conrad Verner…?” The uniformed turian’s gaze kept bouncing back and forth between his omni-tool and the young girl clad in a charcoal spacer suit and a hoody.
“My dad thought I was going to be a boy. He named me after himself,” Aerin laughed nervously, “Weird right? I totally think so too…” The turian asked her to step out of the scanner. She scuttled forward with an anxious grin, thinking that she didn’t properly hack the scanners, or that she was caught doing so.
“So you’re a mechanic, eh? Pretty young for a mechanic.” The turian and his human partner kept eyeing their information and then back at the young woman.
“Dad tells me I’m a prodigy all the time.”
“Your dad is dead.”
“I’d rather not talk about that.” She was afraid to look away as their own eyes kept darting back and forth, and then between each other, exchanging cautioned glances. There was a long silence shared among them.
“You must be quite the prodigy to be civilian contracted for an Alliance reconnaissance vessel.”
Aerin didn’t say anything this time, just nodded sheepishly. The turian turned to his partner, and then looked back through a window, where another C-Sec officer gave them the thumbs up and just shrugged in confusion.
“Alright. Well everything checks out Conrad. Sorry to hold you up.”
She walked away rubbing her sweaty palms on her hoody. She soon came upon the SSV Tempest, a beauty to behold. Aerin mouthed a silent expletive and boarded the ship with a case of her equipment in hand. Not only was the ship sleek and sexy, the on board VI was warmly welcoming, and it even recognized who she was. She couldn’t wait to dive into every nook and cranny aboard the ship, and she particularly had a craving to descend into the hangar bay.
As she entered the ship with the crew casually settling in, she noticed the bridge to her immediate right. There stood a man watching a live vid feed. Aerin guessed the man must have been Commander Markovich. Mora included in her information that Commander Markovich was also a Spectre, which was curious to Aerin, a young colony-born human who became infatuated with stories of Commander Shepard and his heroism in the Reaper War. It was said that almost every being in the galaxy owed their existence to that one person. So to Aerin, the connotation of the rank Spectre was quite grandiose in her head.
Needless to say, she was disappointed to see a bedraggled lumberjack in a spacesuit turn to her from the head of the bridge.
“Aerin Wright,” she stated succinctly and flatly, as per her usual mercenary spiel, “Infiltrator for the Omega group Adrestia. I was contacted by an alien named Mora for an assignment. I would like to be briefed on the mission, sir.”
 
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Artorias

Highlord of the Tal'Darim
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If Druin asked for someone to put a bullet in his head to get rid of the aching headache of the hangover, would anyone actually do it? The Salarian beside him was bursting with energy while he just wanted to sleep some more and get rid of this damn thing before he would feel back to normal. "I'm getting to the ship already." Druin spoke, mainly to himself to try to push some sort of energy through his body. He sat there still, building up the energy and confidence to stand up and not send the world spinning with a light head. Pushing up from his seat, his vision went black and blurry for a moment before he shook it off and started to leave the Tower to head towards the Docking Bay. He didn't check to see if Osar was going to be following him. He only cared about making it to the Tempest.

Getting through the necessary procedures to make it past C-Sec and onto the Tempest. He didn't give himself the time to even glance at the Tempest and see how advanced and sleek it was. Instead he walked up the ramp and straight into the bell of the ship where an Ensign was waiting. "Where is my room?" Druin asked the young looking human, his eyes squinting closed as the vibrant lights of the ship burned into his skull.

After being pointed in the right direction and with the Ensign's help, he arrived at his room where he would be staying for the duration of the mission. Not checking to see if the room was just meant for him, the Drell dropped into the first bed that came into his view and closed his eyes. He would be passing out shortly as the world finally stopped spinning and everything was at peace.

The Tempest was small, and generally the 'Captain' of the ship got a room to themselves. A cabin all for them, while the crew had to bunk with one another. If that was the case, he could only hope he didn't have a loud roommate.
 
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Childish Grumpino

"...before turning the gun on himself."
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Druin’s hopes are in vain.

And are almost immediately dashed.

“Hiiiiiiiiiii roomie!” echoes a familiar from the corridor outside the cabin, and within the next second the door has come flying open and the blurred form of Osar comes hurtling inside. Staggering to a halt, she blinks rapidly at the drell before grinning. “Oh hey, you’re the one I’m bunking with! Was kinda wondering. The quarian and geth were obviously gonna be cabin-sharing and it would make sense from a resource management perspective to put the two krogan in the same space just so they don’t kill someone, so logically it was gonna be one of the other non-human crew since humans would probably want to bunk together.” The words come out almost in a single stream of consciousness, the salarian barely pausing for breath.

Blinking again, she gazes around the small cabin and then nods. “So, you want top bunk? The other STG guys always used to argue over who bunked where. Never with me, though. Cowards. You explored the ship at all? I really wanna go check out the science facilities they have, see if these Alliance types have any fun toys to play with. I’ve got sooooo many ideas for explosive chemical compounds, so here’s hoping they have a decent synthesiser. My last commander wouldn’t let me anywhere near one after that one time with the Asari ambassador, which was totally not my fault by the way.” She glances at Druin again. “Is your skin supposed to be that pale? My drell biology knowledge isn’t that great.”
 
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