[Illium, Pasandris Arcology] Every Great Commodity's Been Sold

Doran ordered her asari farmers to take shelter in the town center, then had the cavalry alternate between engaging the krogan foot soldiers and retreating to be healed by a cleric, while archers worried them from the flanks.

She glanced at the CO and suppressed an snicker. Lystheni looked like he was already nursing a killer headache, and they hadn't even hit dirt yet. The human took another sip of her drink, relishing the smooth burn. It wasn't exactly cheap liquor, but it was only the one glass, and there was nothing to spend paychecks on but a sleeping pod, guns, and alcohol. The skewers were long gone. Never did break the habit of scarfing food like a varren after the reaper war.

The resident (crazy) doctor was getting his fair share of warier looks. Note to self: keep an eye on the medic.

A sudden blast of music in her ear made her jump. Checking the simulation made her break out in half-hearted cursing under her breath. YOU WERE DEFEATED. TRY AGAIN? flashed obnoxiously across the burned husk of asari civilization.

Aalos sighed to himself as he watched good credits go to a bad end before turning back around to face the bar, more or less ignoring the human gaming at the table. She wanted to stuff her face and smirk to herself by all means lady go right ahead. He had his own business to attend to. Speaking of which...

His hand was only halfway up again before his glass was refilled.

"Thanks."

The bartender just nodded, with maybe a something a bit like sympathy in his eyes before moving on to the knot of combat engineers who had literally all pressed up against the counter at the same time.

As much as Bistis disliked crowds and social gatherings. He disliked being touched even more. Noticeably stiffening and turning a bit to glare at Kenlin.

And as quickly as the sudden mood swing happened, it was gone.

"No thanks. I think I've had enough to drink for tonight" he then, looked at the medic and shook his head a bit, grinning. "Oh, him? Nah, I'm not worried about him. There are medics that are a lot more off than him"

Another awkward chuckle and the salarian was back to being quiet.

All around the group at the bar people were talking, they chatting, they were drinking, they were slipping off to nice, quiet spots hand in hand. It was something to see really, literally hundreds of Eclipse troopers blowing off steam in a display of what would probably be called gross excess by anybody not in the business. To any of Illium's cream of the crop it would just look like a horde of intoxicated and boisterous mercenaries being

well

mercenaries.

Vulgar. Crude. Presumptive. Arrogant.

But there was a reason for this, a reason that even Aalos didn't begrudge the revelers their noise or their drunken idiocy, not really. You see this was the last good time that anyone here would have for awhile; in the weeks and possible months ahead there would be no pretty asari to come share your drink, at least, not one you weren't paying for her time. No soft bunks. No rest, no time where you weren't living with the shadow of a gunshot wound to the head. No, the future was full of muddy fields littered with spent heatsinks. The metallic pings of gunfire. The screams of dieing and the quiet, terrible, stillness of the dead.

For some this was the last good time they would ever have. They'd come back to Illium in cheap plastic cartons if they were lucky or rot on some hellhole far, far away from their friends and family if they weren't.

The Lystheni knocked back another drink and held up his glass.

But hey.

It was what they were payed for.