[Citadel- Shin Akiba] New Years Party! [OPEN]

Sarah slowly shoved up to her feet and took a wobble. A grin on her face, she'd stumble over to the bar, her hands shoved into her pockets. She's wearing boots, a black and yellow-sunburst dress- Something she appears to be out of her element in. The blonde leaned up against the bar and slapped her hands against the hard marble top, the bartender bringing her another shot of whiskey.

"Sarah- This is five, right? Or six?"

"Five."

It was six.

Odenna looked to the human and lifted her glass. She didn't look too settled on her feet, but it was a party, who was she to deny her? Besides, Odenna was off duty.

"You sure you can handle that?"

A cop really is never off-duty.

Alexander begged to differ on that one.
For one thing, he REALLY aught to be in Mombasa at the moment. Sure, last time there was a new year party there (Last year in fact, shock horror), The decorations set fire to a building, and some arsehole drunk drove a ship through a pier.
It was incredible he was aloud more time off work. He'd already spent one and a half weeks off trying to get to Arcturus. But it turns out three years without a holiday for a cop meant he had the grand total of three weeks of paid leave.
He didn't want to spend it all at once, but new year on the Citadel, even with all the aliens, was better then policing New year back on Earth.
"What'd I miss?"

Michelle was a little put off by the Hanar completely ignoring her. Weren't those guys supposed to be polite? Wait, what if her luminous glasses actually spelled something offensive in their light-based language? Michelle suddenly imagined herself wearing a big "YOUR HANAR MOM SUCKS TENTACLES IN THE ABYSS" sign on her head.
Slightly panicking, she tried to find something to say to make it better, but then Mombasa entered, and the Hanar left her thought entirely.
"Yummy!"

She turned to Sarah.

"Sarah! Look! He's here! Ok, I'll take my chance! Quick! How do I look?"

Amidst the din of the crowds, moved a shadow. Well, maybe not a shadow, but Shaart was doing his best to remain inconspicuous, a hard task when he was the second remaining raloi in the known galaxy after Najhil. So he had opted for the second best disguise. No one looked on the down-trodden and beggars of the street (unless they were in the wrong place). It remained to be seen if he was enough blatant to stand out in the crowd this restaurant had.

Quick pass on the buffet table. Discreet pick on any food close enough for his talons. He prayed quietly it would be enough palatable for his tastes. Any bite he could grab was needed, but it was hardly wanted if he upset his stomach with foreign food.

There. Loaf of bread and...plants, thin slice of meat and another one of milk gone off? No, cheese, that's what it was called. It had to do. The raloi, his features mostly concealed underneath the worn hoodie and pants looking like they were made for krogan than frail avian legs, moved closer to the walls, away from the table to eat his catch.

Sarah had already escaped, off to haphazardly disguise her inebriated manner to the turian bartender and worse, the cop.
"I'm fiine, COP.." She'd attempt to familiarly slap the turian woman on the arm, only to knock over a glass in her stumble. "What, I haven't done nothing! I'm-.." She stood and spoke with a 'You ain't got nothing on me!' tone. The owner would slip up to the front of the bar and attempt to pull her away, before she'd embarass herself -and others- once more.

"I- Come on, what's .. I haven't.." Sarah was shoved to stand up against one of the kitchen's back walls. "I haven't done anything." She'd stand with the most ridiculous grin on her face- and fall flat on her ass. Chris rubbed her brow and let out a frustrated growl.

"I'm saving this for the judge." She'd mutter, wandering off to talk to her line cooks- Who stared at the previous situation with shock.

Ahhhhh yeah! Food.
Alex moved swiftly to the banquet table. He told himself he'd talk to some of these people once he actually ate. 18 hours awake without food does that to people.
He grabbed some slices of pizza, some lettuce, some Beef snawiches, some...
This may take a while.
After stuffing all this onto two seperate plates, he sat himself done on a nearby table. If there was going to be one good thing about this party, it was going to be the food.

So engrossed was Laykalar in the food supply (and wonderful it was, too!), that he almost missed the latest round of entrances. Reflecting for a moment, he found himself slightly embarrassed; he should be paying more attention to his surroundings. He wouldn't want to miss anyone interesting! Then again, he was always being told how easily he distracted himself. For some reason, he was a lot more restrained than usual - perhaps it was simply the excitement of the previous days. That and he didn't want a repeat of the inelegant blunders he'd committed in the Art Shop. He reminded himself that he should be making conversation, but as he was preparing to speak, he noticed something intriguing. Ooh, what manner of alien was that which had just entered? He glided over for a closer look.

"Uh... huh. If you say so, sweetie." Odenna shook her head and sipped from her own glass before conspiratorially leaning in toward the bartender. "May want to switch her to flavored waters from now on. She'll be feeling that in the morning."

It was a little early to be as inebriated as Sarah obviously was.

Heading back to his spot along the wall, Snow saw more new arrivals, some hooded individual. The clothes were a bit too baggy on he/she/it? The other was either a cop or military, judging by the way he moved. The 'charity' worker nimbly sidestepped past the line at the buffet, standing beside the hooded wallflower. As Snow resituated himself, watching the crowd he noticed a hanar coming toward him, or the figure besde him. Hopefully the person nearby was the jellyfish's target for conversation...

OH GOD this food was good. Perhaps he should just sit by the food the entire night. It's not as if he was invited, no one REALLY saw him arrive.
Nope.
Gonna have to talk to them. Eventually.
There was some baggy clothed... Individual nearby he could talk to.
There was the now drunk host.
There was the Carity women from earlier.
There was a turian.
There was a hanar.
There was a bunch of... Guys. Look like marines.
And yet, Very few of them seemed to be talking. Or even sociallising. Call this a party?
And that's when he noticed it. The glorious machine of awkardness and amusing stories, that could at least get people talking.
The karoke machine
A Plan began to form in his head. An stupid, glorious plan.
He moved towards the machine, swerving past the guests. Carefully ignoring getting accidently slapped by a giddy Burke, he walked onto the stage and switched on the microphone.
Now, Alex was hardly a horrible musician. His voice wasn't nails on chalkboard bad. But his Kenyan accent didn't often go with a lot of songs. Still, he talked.
"Good evening ladies and Gentlemen. It's coming to the end of a very long year. Now, it's been two years since the reapers, you don't have to all act so glum. Let's kick off the celebrations with...
He cycled through the collection of songs. Their were a lot of oldies on here, with only a few songs he actually knew the words too. Of course, the whole point of the Karoke machine isn't to sing well.
It's to sing entertainingly.
"Year 3000, by Busted, Circe 2000 and something."
And so, the singing began.

Sarah slowly rose to her feet and made her way out to the front, taking her place by the couch. Need to sober up- She thought- Can't embarrass myself any further than I already have. She'd reach forward, taking a bowl of snacks from the alcohol table along with a glass of water. She'd drink and eat- and her attention would be caught by the others by the tables.

Michelle's glowing glasses caught her eye. The woman squinted slightly, perplexed. Six shots of liquor- And .. this is why she makes poor life decisions. The woman bundled her arms across her chest and leaned back into the cushions- While her partner stepped out onto the restaurant floor, hands on her hips. The head chef ran a hand through her hair and glanced about- Only to see Mombasa.
She'd step back, whisper into a worker's ear, and then back into the kitchen.

Not long after, a bucket full of wine bottles is set on the table- Along with more food.

The hooded raloi kept a close eye under his hood on the surroundings as he devoured the sandwich. He had remained unnoticed for the time being...but, one of those floating things...hens? No, hanar. One of them had taken an approach vector that brought itself closer to him.

Then there was this human who had sidled next to him. He smelled fishy, the man carried himself like a soldier. What was he doing here and so close to him? Shaart's muscles tensed up by instinct, expecting trouble.

No, no. This was no more the days when he'd lie in ambush for the Imperial soldiers, to try take one of them prisoner and leave rest for the carrion eaters. Turvess was gone, and so was everything he'd gotten used to with it. This was just a buffet, and at worst he'd only get booted out if his unpaid visit came to light. After all, he had managed to eat something already.

Shaart Klarkoi merely continued to observe the two persons of interest, waiting for their next move.

"Perhaps something a little more... Current would suit this better." He whispered.
He cycled through the songs. Until one particular one caught his eye. Perfect
"Ladies and Gentleman, it's "Commander Shepard" By the Miracle of sound."
The song began to play. And, so... He sung:

From Omega to Mars
From the Council to the seediest bars
From the reaches of space
To the pillars of Asari grace

There are battle-worn batarians lacking in humility
Turians a braggin' bout their reach and flexibility
The clutter of the cities spreads to the loneliest stars

But no matter what scars you bear
Whatever uniform you wear
You can fight like a Krogan, run like a leopard
But you'll never be better than Commander Shepard

In the Citadel's halls
Inside the shining walls
Hear the stories from Earth
Fighters wanna prove their worth

Salarian science smothered in idiom
About as stimulating as scanning for iridium
But one tale holds every mind enthralled

Cause no matter what scars you bear
Whatever uniform you wear
You can fight like a Krogan, run like a leaopard
But you'll never be better than Commander Shepard

COMMANDER SHEPARD!

No matter what scars you bear
Whatever uniform you wear
You can fight like a Krogan, run like a leaopard
But you'll never be better than Commander Shepard

You can fight like a Krogan, run like a leaopard
But you'll never be better than Commander Shepard
You can fight like a Krogan, run like a leaopard
But you'll never be better than Commander Shepard!

Never be better than Commander Shepard
Never be better than Commander Shepard
Never be better than Commander Shepard
Never be better than Commander Shepard

He let that sink in for a while.
"Anyone else want to come up here, or am I going to be the background music all night?"

"Rrrrghhhh", the night was almost bearable until the jackass turned on the karaoke machine. Snow rubbed the bridge of his nose in disgust, another one of the Shepard fanboys. At least the hooded individual nearby was quiet, although the stare he shot in Snow's direction was one he recognised in spirit. Not quite a challenge, but damn close, "might as well find out", thinking as the ex-salvager turned his dead grey eyes to hooded wallflower,

"Staring at me making that sandwich taste any better?"

Laykalar glided over to the being in the strange-fitting clothes. By now he was fairly quivering with interest, because the being was strange indeed, more so the closer he came. Just when he thought this marvellous place had shown him all it had to offer regarding the appearance of bipeds! How intriguing! He stopped in front of the being, and it fixed him with a a quizzical (and somewhat apprehensive) look. Laykalar wasn't very good at distinguishing mood in bipeds, so ploughed into an opening speech, almost radiating wholesome interest.

"Greetings! This one extends traditional good will to the other, in honour of the new galactic year! This one hopes the other is enjoying itself. It apologies for its boldness in asking, but its curiosity is engaged, and it trusts the other will indulge this one's scholarly interest. The other's racial origin is not familiar to this one; as it intends to become familiar with the full range of spiritual perspectives open to Enkindled beings, and those who come by the gifts of language through alternative means, this one requires broad familiarity with the racial variants of bipedal species".

Just like sex, race could be an important and even delicate aspect of a biped's identity, and Laykalar knew he would have to ask carefully. Trying to structure his question in a form that would prevent distress or impropriety was, of course, a priority.

"The Citadel has demonstrated to this one great diversity in its inhabitants, yet this one cannot recall encountering one quite like the other! Has this one been neglectful in its sampling of the station's inhabitants?"

Was the human nearby glaring at him? He still wasn't sure how to interpret those light-sensitive organs known as eyes, though he'd become interested in their spiritual applications following his exchanges with the batarian.

A hanar, of course, could communicate with more than one person, pursue several exchanges more or less alongside each other without feeling overwhelmed. Conversations, debates and ideological exchange were so much the richer when multiple beings participated. There were layers to discussion, complexities appropriate to beings with the spark of intellect. The intriguingly unique being had apparently been addressed by the human as Laykalar arrived - perhaps the human thought Laykalar cold or exclusive, attempting to deflect his contribution rather than have his own speech stand alongside it. Perhaps he anticipated a conflict, hence the apparent glare. Laykalar intended no such monopolizing of this intriguing being in the strange coverings. He would swiftly and gladly remedy any misunderstandings.

"This one extends greetings to the other, also. Is the other enjoying the human-derived music? This one wonders: Is running in the manner of a quadrupedal predator from the Terran tropics considered generally desirable or attractive? Is this a common metaphor or has it been selected merely because the creature’s name forms a rhyme with the Illuminated Shepard’s?"

"Huh?" Snow turned to the jellyfish, the almost luminous voice making the hanar's enthusiasm bearable as he took a sip of water before answering,

"Well, most furheads like myself don't run on all fours, just not built for it. As for the 'enjoyment of the song'? Not so much." A wry grin creeping onto the young man's face, "It's just another song about Shepard and the war, and just between you and me, too much has already been fuckin' said about both of them. But then again, the war is not one of my favorite subjects."

It's not a new year on Solregit, but given the disaster that happened last time she tried to come to one of Sarah's parties--what with Gestran eating the dextro goodies she'd brought--Vindi decides it would only be polite to try again, without the food this time.

The turian is dressed in an outfit she doesn't usually wear--khaki-style slacks and a long sleeved shirt. Her velour hoodies are a little too casual and girlish for this kind of occasion; her other clothing is too military, or paramilitary--aggressive, perhaps frightening. She does, however, wear her chieftain's fur cape around her shoulders.

Hrmph. They both lunged forward into discussion at the same time. And he had been hoping for a calm dinner.

"No, it does not. But one would be foolish to close out the world from themselves just for a meal, for that is when the bigger predator strikes."

Shaart said gloomily, eating last crumbs of the sandwich. Here, Snow would have gotten a very good look at the mysterious person's rough and scaly hands, that were four-fingered and all had sharp, black claws on their ends. Then it was the hanar's turn to be addressed.

"I am nothing but a rare drop in the swelling ocean of the Citadel, and you should not concern yourself with me. My people are good as dead, and I'm just few breaths away from joining them."