nexus_sages | (no subject)

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It's a beautiful day in the Nexus, and what better time for a young krogan to be out exploring? Is he looking for weapons, tasty snacks, or possibly just classic Earth literature? Who can say?

Whatever the case, Grunt doesn't seem to be finding it, but it doesn't seem to matter much. He stops and sniffs at the air, curious about the new sights, sounds, and smells here. "What is that?" he asks no one in particular, his voice deep and booming.

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*That gets him a skeptical look.*

You're about to eat dead insects, but don't like the sight of something that resembles dead worms?

Grunt doesn't really get why that's such a disconnect, not realizing of course that she has no idea what Tuchankan wildlife is like. "Food that looks toxic isn't appetizing. Weird, right? I don't care what it's made of, really, I can't get over it looking like it tastes like acid."

Ah. The worms are toxic where you're from. Fair enough.

*She'll spare him any barbs about not being able to overcome what food looks like, because some people are just delicate like that. With the details sorted, she orders an appetizer sampler, to give her new acquaintance a chance to try a variety of things. For herself she gets a cup of something cinnamon-smelling and a pastry.*

Good thing she doesn't voice that thought indeed. The word 'delicate' might be the biggest insult one could possibly throw at a krogan.

Grunt leans against the counter while he waits for the food to arrive. "So, what are you, anyway?"

*Contrary to popular belief, Samus doesn't antagonize people needlessly; she'll wait to see if she has a reason to needle this newcomer, first.*

I'm Chozo. You?

*Of course, she looks human because she used to be human, but that's hardly her fault.*

"I am krogan." He draws himself up a bit at that, quite proud of his species, despite their bad reputation. Which he doesn't realize she may not have heard of. "Name's Grunt."

*There's certainly no recognition in her expression. She extends a hand in greeting.*

Samus. Pleased to meet you, Grunt.

Hmm. Right, handshakes, that's a human thing. He grips her hand a little more roughly than is typical, though he's not trying to hurt her.

"Heheh. You're one of the few, then."

*She's got quite a grip, herself. She doesn't squeeze any harder than he does, but the unspoken implication is of strength to spare.*

You're not popular at home?

*The food arrives; mingling warm aromas seeping out of several take-away containers.*

"Mm. Species has a bad reputation. They needed us to defeat the rachni, then when they were done with us they tried to exterminate us nicely. These days, if you meet up with a krogan off Tuchanka, you're probably on the wrong end of a gun 'cuz someone else wants you dead. Like we're to blame for taking a job."

"They?"

*She takes just a moment to pay, tapping a small rod against some kind of credit reader, before gathering the take-away containers and heading toward the door.*

People rarely appreciate being on the receiving end of violence. Do you tend to do more mercenary work or bounty hunting? Or is there even a difference where you're from?

"The Council species. Salarians, mostly."

He takes up his own containers, sniffing at the contents. Some things smell far more appetizing than others, and he can't wait to take a taste.

"Most offworld krogan are mercs. Me, I've never done any of that. Haven't had the chance. Or the need."

I'm not familiar with them.

*There's bound to be sturdy seating of some sort within a short stroll.*

So what kind of work do you do?

"You're not missing much."

Grunt is satisfied with any seat that won't straight-up collapse under his armored posterior, comfort being a far secondary concern. He plonks himself down and opens his take-out box, peering into it.

"Heh. Good question. Not sure what you'd call it. I'd say I'm a soldier, but there's no army, just Commander Shepard."

Hmm, a small, independent armed force--but not mercenaries. I admit I'm curious.

*Grunt has a combination of roasted crickets, deep-fried cheese, skewers of seasoned meat, and other appetizer delights from which to choose. Samus sips her drink and takes a bite of her pastry.*

She promised him insects, so those are what he goes for first, sniffing them before crunching down on one. He ponders the flavor for a moment, then decides it's acceptable, and starts working his way through the crickets.

"I've only been with Shepard for a couple weeks, so I don't really know what the details are of the command structure. I'm pretty sure mercs get paid though. Me, I get a place to stay, food to eat, and worthy foes to fight. That's plenty for me."

Ah. Fighting for a cause, then?

*She's making a guess, but it's not an ignorant one. With a nod in the direction of the crickets he's eating, she adds a question.*

How are they?

"Heheh. Pretty much. Trying to save the galaxy from Reapers."

He follows her nod to look down at the crickets. "Seasoning's a bit sweeter than I'm used to but it's good. Nice and crunchy."

Glad you like them.

*Saving the galaxy is business that gets her attention. While she feigns nonchalance with her drink and her pastry and her body language, her eyes are sharply focused on the Krogan.*

Reapers?

Crickets gone, Grunt pokes around in the container for what else might be appealing. He looks sideways at the deep-fried cheese, utterly flummoxed as to what it could be.

"Some kinda ancient threat from the darkness outside the galaxy. They wanna kill anything. Can't say I don't understand, but I like living."

"Anything" as in they aren't picky, or "anything" as in "everything?"

*He's welcome to try one, or ask about them. Samus' pastry is almost gone.*

I don't normally do pro bono work, but this sounds like the sort of thing I might be willing to lend a hand with. If your commander finds themselves short-staffed at some point.

"As in everything," Grunt says with a nod. "Everything spacegoing, anyway."

He sniffs the cheese and takes a bite. It's unlike anything he's ever had before, and he has no idea if that's a bad thing. He chews it thoughtfully.

"Heheh. Shepard has a habit of picking up crew from anywhere and everywhere. Not sure everyone's worth recruiting, but she seems to think so."

It's good to have a broad talent pool in a crisis.

"Heh. Depends on the crisis. This one's pretty different from anything I know about, so you're not wrong on that."

He decides the cheese is just a bit too weird, and sets it aside for the time being, digging through for the next odd, hopefully-tasty treat.

Haven't faced too many extinction events before?

*She keeps her tone glib. Perhaps he'll like the skewers of sesame-marinaded beef better than the cheese.*