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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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.*

"Not personal experience, no. But anything can be killed, even giant synthetic monsters from deep space."

*Samus gives an approving nod.*

Yes. Anything can be killed, if you're determined enough.

He sounds amused by this, his deep voice rumbling in a laugh. "Don't forget heavy weaponry. That helps a lot."

*She smirks, her tone lightly teasing.*

That's not a measure of your determination, where you come from?

He grins a little, flat lips pulling back from his teeth. "Depends on what you're fighting. And what your odds are. The longer the odds, the more glorious the victory."

That's one measure for it, certainly.

*Another sip finishes her drink.*

So have you seen action with this outfit yet?

"A few skirmishes. Nothing that really means anything yet. I'm told that's coming soon."

He locates the meat-on-a-stick part of the appetizers, and is quite happy to start devouring that. He doesn't, however, realize that the stick isn't meant to be eaten too, but it doesn't seem to bother him terribly much.

*The first rule of being at the top of the food chain is: if you can eat it, okay.*

Any glory before you joined up?

He shrugs his big armored shoulders. "I wouldn't know. Apparently Shepard is famous for kicking ass though."

I was asking about you.

He stops eating for a moment as he considers how to answer. "I'm tankborn. My first real memory is waking on Shepard's ship. I have the knowledge Okeer gave me, memories of a thousand battles, but none of them are mine."

*She gives a thoughtful nod at that.*

I see. Well, if you'd ever like a sparring partner, give me a call. You look like you could keep up.