[Denakot, Tayseri] Rebuilding, Reopening, Reloading [open]

Marius knew that look; he'd worn it quite a few times at family gatherings when the opposite party in a conversation was being a prat. If she saw him in the crowd he'd be called over---

Ah there we are.

With a smile, he stumped over to Jo, and promptly found himself wondering what the proper method of greeting was. Fringe contact was a bit much, a handshake far too little. So instead he simply settled for hugging her close with his free hand, whispering in her ear how he'd missed her.

With luck the judging stares wouldn't be too bad. Without, well, he'd dealt with worse.

He let her go, nodding at the various members of her family. "Marius Pilum, nice to meet you all." For the battle-hardened Sundowners, he offered a weary grin. They didn't need any introduction or formalities; they'd spilled blood (or Reaper oil) together. That tended to bring you together far more than any party.

However...

"I don't suppose you have any more of that?" he asked Battis, nodding at the stew. "The Spirits' own food, that is."

Peraxus turned. Aira, that little turian that had been getting underfoot so much. The old man forced the closest thing to a smile he could manage, gingerly taking the mug from her claws.

"Thanks. Appreciate it."

Everything about him seemed slower, almost forced. Like everything took a concerted effort. He took a disinterested sip of the drink, staring into space.

Vohk blinked with surprise at being approached, before smiling politely in greeting.

"It has been a while since I visited the Touch it's true. Both times, were little more than a year ago."

Vohk glanced at the expansive mural, before studying the woman who'd approached him. One eye was slightly bluer than the other, and was attractive for turian, he guessed. The species was aesthetically pleasing to look upon, but lacked facial traits that he could instinctually identify with. Only exposure over time had given a better idea of how to read them.

"Its certainly changed a bit since then. Pleasure to meet you ma'am."

He extended his hand, and, remembering how Vindi had greeted them that first meeting prior to the interview, greeted her by grasping her arm below the elbow, leaving her free to do the same.

"Vokaidin Knox"

"So, How'd you meet Chieftian Detticia, Mike?" PFC Hannah Rutledge asked as Second Squad walked through Denakot, towing hover-dollies of antique weaponry and Ammo.

"Met her a while ago, Was a regular at the Sniper's Touch when I was on the Citadel restoring a M4A2 Sherman for a museum here, and then supervising a traveling exhibition set up here by the UNAWM." Michael Cline replied, wearing his ubiqutous #42 Ottawa Senators Jersey over his Utility Uniform.


"Jeez, how much armaments can one guy have, Brah?" PFC Henry Nishimuro asked.

"Da, How many guns do you really own, Comrade?" Cpl Dmitri Sokolov asked.

"Enough to arm an entire battalion Dmitri!"


Second Squad walked through the doors of The Sniper's Touch, Michael leading the way. He intsantly greets Vindi like an old friend. "Vindi! How've you been?" Michael says, greeting the Chieftan with open arms.

Kayana slipped in, carrying two plastic bags filled with levo drinks and mixers. She was a regular at the Touch, but insisted she wasn't. (She just liked to shoot there because Vindi didn't check her obviously fake ID too closely. And to visit Trex, of course.)

The whole Sundowner thing made the drell a little uncomfortable. It was clannish and archaic and charming, right up until you remembered that they'd harboured Sicaria for gods-know how long. Besides, nobody made such a fuss over her service, and she'd be suspicious of anyone who did.

Notras' eyes rolled skyward at Battis' quip, "Yes, I am certain they would have been clamouring for my inclusion, given all my efforts to spread my fame." The sarcasm had little bite, as he smirked good-naturedly at the biotic. "With any luck, they would paint me over you, if only to offset all that popularity of yours."

The arrival of Marius is greeted with a nod, one former soldier to an active one. Ever courteous in his odd way, the sniper makes no comment on the obvious familiarity of the two officers. The barest hint of a smile flicked his mandibles only when Marius turned away, and was gone in an instant.

As was his nature, the man swiftly melded into the background of the conversation, letting the others chatter and reacquaint themselves, whilst he quietly looked on, just outside the circle, emerald eyes sweeping the room. They took in the new arrivals, the conversations popping up here and there... And Trex, not far from the mural, cowl yanked forward and low, looking decidedly agitated. It wouldn't be the number of guests discomforting her, given her often brash, forward, and opinionated nature, so odds were something else was in play. Something pertaining to her pride, then? It was the usual culprit in setting her off, in his experience.

He noted the arrival of the drell girl, Pesh. Notras had never spoken with her, but she and Trex had hit it off splendidly in the last year, if Kayana's routine visits to the range and their frequent meals out were any indication. Some might be surprised that the notoriously cautious Notras didn't somehow monitor their activities outside the range, but the fact was that Trex was her own person, swiftly moving into her adolescence, and all that came with it. While she may have adopted him as her hearth father, he hadn't raised her, hadn't been there all those years. Being overbearing and controlling would be counterproductive at this point. She was finding herself, and beyond requiring her adhere to a few key (and practical) guidelines, he saw his role as providing advice and motivation when it was needed, or on her request. Regardless, she could look after herself... With some helpful advice on the rules and nature of the Citadel, of course.

Put simply, Trex had a hard enough time as it was meeting companions of similar age, and Vindi trusted Kayana well enough to consider her a friend. He kept an eye on them when they were in the hall, and what he had seen allowed him to place some faith in both. The drell would be able to relate with Trex on a level that he and Raelon could not, and as far as he was concerned, the emotional benefit of that insight was more valuable than compromising her freedom and privacy to placate his paranoia.

And so the sniper merely watched from afar, discreetly, his regard simply merged into the casual sweeps of the hall. It would embarrass his hearth-daughter more if he walked over there, and in this way, he could see if Kayana's presence helped, thus affirming his unspoken trust. If he was needed, he would know it.

It had been awhile.

The man in the long, dark, coat stood at the foot of the mural, scanning the, admittedly impressive, artwork with eyes the color of deep forests. Taking the time and care to note each individual figure, each tally, each little bit of handcrafted symbolism. It was beautiful. Very beautiful in fact, a labor of love and pride and grief. It was obvious in every etching, every scroll, every tally mark.

The man seemed decidedly unimpressed. Nothing overt, just a small arching of the eyebrow that was quickly smoothed over. He glanced around, quietly noting and cataloging faces and names. Those he knew (eight) and those he did not (thirteen). Those who were friends and allies (none) and those who were potential threats (four minor physical, one potential moderate physical if reputation was anything to go by, one minor strategic plus one minor strategic/moderate physical). A great deal had changed over the course of the last year, but some things remained constant. Good old corporate paranoia was one of them.

Nikolai sighed and slipped his hands inside the coat pockets as if he was cold.

She wasn't here. Pity.

Juhani looks puzzled as Trex goes away. He didn't hit a nerve on her or did he? But back to discussing with the Schmidts.

"I think I'll manage on my own with the issue just alright. And the arm's good, thanks for asking. I think I'll settle for a synthetic limb after all...cloned ones are so expensive and they don't hold panic guns inside them." To demonstrate, he draws back his sleeve, revealing the sleek and black right arm. One hiss and pop, and there's a gun barrel rated at Carnifex's level pointing out of it. "It's as powerful as a Carnifex...real handy in close quarters. Don't worry, I don't carry heatsinks right now." And the gun's gone back inside the arm.

Aira goes off to find Trex after serving drinks. She looks bit shaken, so she decides to investigate. "Is something wrong?" she asks, trying to catch a peek under the hood.

Trex is beelining for Kayana, waving enthusiastically to her friend, when Aira crosses her path. "Um, nothing," she hedges, not wanting the kid to know, for absolute certain, that she is the kind of coward who chokes in combat. It could be Raelon and Notras have said nothing.

It will never happen again.

"It was a war thing," she says, knowing that will explain it. By now Aira is used to war things, like Ahsaala's sleepless nights, Reb'kah's screaming nightmares, Battis' sudden snaps of temper.

"Hey, Kayana," she says, "what's in the bag?"

She hopes it's booze. Vindi's gotten a lot stricter lately about drinking underage, by which she means Citadel underage.

Something flies across the room and hits Nikolai in the shoulder. A rivet.

If he were to look up, to see where the rivet might have come from, he will see a door slowly swinging shut, not quite quickly enough to hide the glimpse of a figure in the dimness beyond.

The door looks as though it leads to some sort of large closet, or perhaps a tool room.

"We aren't," said Vekir as she saw what Vadar was directing his wheelchair towards, "Oh come on Vadar, they're seppers!"

"They are a local political group, among whom is someone running for high office," corrected Vadar as his mandibles clenched in concentration. He shifted, the wires connecting the back of his neck to his wheelchair twisting as he looked at his niece. "Think of it as...politics," he said as they closed on the range, "Politics with sweets attached, as it were."

"So we're consorting with seppers for free food," the younger turian replied.

"It sounds so much worse when you put it that way," replied Vadar, "But no, I do think keeping the possible local mayor on our good side is...valuable, to say the least. So much easier to get co-operation when no-one hates you. Now, come on, you haven't had proper social interaction since you got out of boot, I expect you to enjoy yourself."

"Brother's going to be so pissed," said the turian girl, and then, the pair walked into the party.

Well, Vekir walked. Vadar's motion would better be described as 'expedient wheeling'.

Jaquento did not appreciate.
"What is it with everyone and arm cannons? Did those phantoms make such an impression?"
He took a mouthful from his bottle.
"Uh, sorry Juhani, it is just... forget it. Guess I had one fight with cerberus to many."
He let a moment pass as his mind tore a memory from the depth and was now palying it all to vivid in front of Jaquento's inner eye.
"Well, nice to see you are doing fine... physical."
He took a second look at the mural and now it hit him that one person was missing.
"Do you know why Marty's wife isn't on there?" He asked with innocent curiosity, obviously not nowing what happened in the year he was busy fixing things with what remained of his family and fouding a business.

"Uh huh." Aira nods and leaves the way too young sniper to be. She hates war. It's because she can't sleep due to others having nightmares about it, and she isn't exempt from it either. Visions of her dead parents keep haunting her, and nightmares of Juhani lying dead on the Touch's floor during the siege. Aira shudders and shakes her head to lose the ghastly images, and walks off to look after the guests.

"Any drinks, mister? Or would you like to have cookies, miss? The chieftain herself baked them!"

Meanwhile, Juhani frowns to Jaquento's less enthusiastic answer. "It's just a panic gun, man. I won't use it unless I'm caught off guard or when rifle's too slow." he elaborates the purpose of the panic gun. Then he just has to ask about Adrianea. Juhani's features darken, and he lowers his voice so Vindi does not hear. "She was a Hierarchy spy. I'm betting it was her doings when Sicaria got arrested and sentenced to death. Incidentally Marty didn't make it through the siege when we left for the foundations...Vindi says it was collapsing roof that did killed Martello, but I have my suspicions about his actual cause of death." he broods.

Ahsaala looks over her shoulder and shoots at Jovina, "You want Battis, you can have him, but I get this one," she grins, extending her talon towards Marius.

She smiles graciously at Vohk. "I'll send Vindi over...." She sees the crowd clustered around Vindi now. "As soon as she shakes free of her paparazzi," Ahsaala quips, though the joke's got a limited shelf life, as she and Battis are now starting to acquire some of their own.

Battis, meanwhile, plays along, "What you think, Jovina, think we'd make some glow-in-the-dark kids?" He winks, and then extends his hand to Susrix. "Battis Montagnis...nice to meet you, and sorry 'bout before. Some folks don't have the same sense of humour about my flying stew. You're welcome, I guess, but way I figure it we're all supposed to help each other be the best we can." It's phrased oddly for someone who's talking about surviving an invasion.

His eyes fly to the pair who've just arrived, the man in the wheelchair and the younger female, scanning them for Gothis facepaint.

"Hey," he says quietly to Marius and Jovina, "tell me if you see anyone showing up in Gothis green."

His own Gothan tattoos are only a ghost now, but something really has him edgy tonight.

Nikolai head snaps towards the open door with surprising speed. His body twisting, tensing. The thin green irises of his prostheses rotating and whirring as he picks out the figure partially hidden by the gloom. He glances around, nobody at the party had noticed the man with the smile made of scars, nobody had approached him, he would not be missed.

He quietly padded over to the doorway and, after casting a careful glance over his shoulder, gently pushed the door open and stepped inside the storeroom.

Was it a trap? Unlikely, especially here, with so many witnesses and neutral parties around, not to mention children. Besides, he was more than capable of taking care of himself in the event of such an occurrence. But that wouldn't be necessary, this person, if it was indeed who he hoped and not some employee having a laugh, was someone he had once called a friend, a colleague.

Was. Once.

Past tense.

Now, well who knew what they were now?

Relationships were inherently messy things. Relationships between "bad people" were exponentially so.

Vohk follows her glance, and nods in understanding. He'd expected something like this after all.

Might as well enjoy the party in the meantime.

"Well, at least that gives me some to enjoy some good company."

Vohk said, trying to be as equally gracious. He looked at the handsome looking food platters, and smiled sheepishly.

"Some advice on what to try certainly wouldn't hurt either."

In the gloom, a small light snaps on. It reveals a turian matron in a long, foot-length, homespun gown, and a ruffly apron, pushing a broom. She has a wrap over her head.

Under the wrap are the eyes of a demon.

She smiles at Nikolai and turns on a portable transceiver which begins to play staticky, tinny music, at a level slightly louder than a normal conversation.

Quatra takes a waltzlike step closer to Nikolai and murmurs in his ear, "Fuck Raelon, that nosy little bastard." She nods, meaningfully, at the upper left corner where a dustrag now dangles overtop a security camera's lens.

"You're looking well, my friend."

And Quatra is looking downright domesticated, everywhere except the eyes, and the baring of teeth she calls a smile, though one might wonder how much of it is for show. How dangerous is the woman who sweeps the floor?

"Oh."
Jaquento needed a second to comprehend what Juhani told him.
"Hm, I did know she was working for the hierarchy in some way, engineering corps or something like that. But that, oh man, it reeks of Internal Intel and if those guys as dedicated to their jobs as MilInt is... Well, I didn't thought of her as the cold-hearted type that could fake an entire relationship. I don't know if I should insult her or compliment on her skills."
Then again, Jaquento wondered, what if the knife she took Sicaria down with was double-edged in the end and her feelings for Martello were genuine. Juhani was the living proof of what some people did when they couldn't handle the pressure of split loyalities. But there was also the fact that she did blew her cover apparently herself.
"Maybe she wasn't all that cold-hearted if blew her cover without any need to do so."

Jaquento emptied his bottle in thought. He couldn't bring himself to hate Adrianea, after all she just did her job and ruined relationships were par of the course in deep cover work. There was another issue. The sundowners are taking breaches of trust seriously. Hopefully none of them was dumb enough to swear an oath of vengence or something. Last thing Vindi would need was an associate of hers trying to assasinate a hierarchy agent while she was running for office.
Speaking of which, he still intended to make a contribution to the campaing effort.

"Hi, Lode!" Vindi grins. "As you can see your Winchester is still looking very well." She gestures to the historical weapon hanging on the wall.

...Perhaps best not to tell him that the gun survived the firebombing of the Touch because it had been cached in a sewer two miles away via the ducts.

Vindi works her way through the crowd and finally stops in front of Vohk. She tilts her head sideways and squints, her old body language for "smile", even though she now has prosthetic mandibles for a real smile. "Hi Vohk!" she says, sounding perky and genuinely happy to see him.

She apparently remembers exactly who he is.

"What brings you down to Denakot?"

Peraxus turned back to Reb'kah, taking a somewhat deeper swig of his ale. "What's with the concern all of a sudden, anyway?" he asked, his newly bare face making his yellow eyes stand out all the clearer. The old turian had practically lived in the Touch with the rest of the Sundowners ever since the wave of light. Occasionally he left, but only briefly. He would always return, not a word said about where he had been.

"I'm a big boy. I can look after myself."