[Omega] The Worst Weekend Ever. EVER.

With the aggrieved sigh of one whose day was officially at 'blown' status, Shirin emerged from the bathroom in a robe, Locust and armagnac in tow.

"Catch," she said, tossing the bottle to Cerastes - the temptation to throw it at him had been considerable. There were perhaps three swallows left, but it was absurdly good brandy, so that was pretty fair. "Aliquam, we don't need the torch, and I have got to stop using any semblance of sarcasm around you people."

Opening the doors to the closet, she vanished from sight again.

This was... turning out significantly different than how Cerastes had imagined. He was going to make it out of this alive. How the hell had the tables turned so suddenly?

The broker somehow managed to catch the bottle, although it took a bit of fumbling, considering he had a gun in each hand. Another glance was directed towards the Pig Destroyer, after which he limped over to the bed and set it down back in its place. Once that was accomplished, the drell took proper hold of the bottle in his free hand (the other still clutched the pistol, just in case) and tossed back a long swig that did little to no justice to the quality of the brandy.

He wasn't much of a drinker.

"If you wish, I'll return to the mess hall, now," he said, after a cough. His eyes flicked to Ali in the doorway.

"I need..." Ali looked at Shirin disappear already.

"How the hell does she want me to reinforce a manifold without a blowtorch... You want the mess, just down the corridor to the left one level down. You not going to do her... best choice really she seems on edge."

He stepped inside the room and began to pry open the floor. "I just need to do a bit of work on the manifold and I'm done..."

he looked at the door where Shirin disappeared, and shouted "WITH THE BLOWTORCH, BECAUSE THAT'S HOW IT'S DONE!"

"...Right. Leave it to me to correct the one person on the ship who doesn't intend to set Cerastes on fire."

She emerged moments later, dressed and gloriously sullen. Hadn't even finished the bath and the armagnac.

"Aliquam, use the blowtorch on the manifold. My bad. Cerastes, I'd tell you that yes, you should go back, but today's theme appears to be that I'm largely powerless on my own ship, so do whatever the hell you want."

The Locust indicated the door before being holstered.

"With that said, do it somewhere other than here."

Quam poked his head out of the floor and closed it, "there all done..." It was than that he finally understood what was going on and he looked towards Cerastes then his boss and back again.

"Well if nobody wants to inform of these things before hand, what do I look like some fucking soothsayer." he stepped towards the door. "You've heard the boss, Cer. We're off to the mess..."

"What do you think we've been doing for the past hour and a half?" Cerastes insinuated to Ali. He cocked a brow, then cast a meaningful glance down his naked torso, just to add a little punch to the statement. After all the hell Shirin had put him through, it was about time he returned the favor. "With that out of the way, you said someone was looking for an information broker?"

He paid little to no heed to Shirin; if she wanted to be a bitch, she was free to do so by herself. Cerastes took two steps towards Ali, then paused in the doorway to bend down and sheathe the pistol in the empty holster strapped around his calf. The dress pants hid it well.

"Enjoy your 'quiet time,' Ms. Vedral," he called over his shoulder, straightening. "I know I did."

Ali, having done his 15 in the Hierarchy and then turning merc didn't bat an eye to Cer's insinuation. So what if his Superior Officer had some private fun during her downtime it was not his concern.

"whatever?" he looked at the drell and shrugged.

"and I'm keeping my mouth shut until I know what's going on, especially to someone who asks a lot of questions, and who gives little answers. Oh and leave the guns, otherwise you'll die for certain..." it didn't sound like a threat, but a statement of fact, "now I think Kirok has some home cooked levo food in the fridge."

"Mm. She can try."

Cerastes did not return the pistol. He continued down the hall towards the mess room, intent on informing Kirok that he was going to leave if possible.

The last two words being the key, there.

And that's when a muffled shot rang through the hallway, just grazing the drell's shoulder.

"pistol floor now, and don't think of turning" Yet again it wasn't a shout, it was the voice of someone very confident in his ability to double tap someone before the target could turn.

Somewhere, crest-deep in a cookbook with a half-dozen varren crawling over him, Kirok's head snapped up.

Was that a ... gunshot?

"Hey. Ennybody wanna tell me what th' hell dat wuz? We okay in dis can?"

... well. Here they were, back to the status quo. Cerastes steeled his jaw as the shot rang out and scraped the tops of his scales. His attention was now focused solely on the turian and, more importantly, the gun pointed directly at him.

"Very well," he acquiesced. The pistol was set down slowly on the floor, and then, with equal care, Cerastes rose again with his palms raised and facing Ali.

"Good, now how about that food? Maybe check if we can't find something for you to wear. I'm sure the batarians left something behind..."

Kirok bellowed something through the ship, "Everything good Kirok, hey you got something levo to eat?"

Ali casually put his gun away, "either way we're going to the mess first, don't worry for the gun I'm sure someone will pick it up."

Kirok frowned at the commspeaker on the wall.

"Wait. Wait. I'm cooking for who? What? Ali, what th' fuck's goin' on!?"

Both the turian and the drell stepped into the kitchen at once. Cerastes looked as though he'd been up to something, which was appropriate, because he'd done just about everything but sleep in the time Kirok had allotted him.

He remained quiet for now, watching his captors. The one he'd judged as less likely to kill him had now evened the playing field.

"Some white drell..." Ali said as they entered the kitchen, "I'm not totally sure what's going on but the boss said he could stay in the mess hall... I don't think he's that harmful." and he sat down at a chair near one of the doors and with a clear line of sight on the other.

Kirok's eyes narrowed as he lurked behind the cookbook, peeking over the top of it suspiciously. His finger lingered over a list of ingredients.

'... two eggs, lightly beaten; 6 cups blood (fresh); 5 pounds meat (reptilian for preference)...'

One massive hand reached for the machete/butcher's knife he kept lodged in the cutting board.

"What's e'doin' here, Ali," Kirok rumbled as he tested the machete's edge. "Thought he'd be done an' off th' boat by now."

"Don't know, don't care... please sit down Cer, don't just stand there. All I know is the boss says to bring him to the mess and keep him alive, so I bring him to the mess and keep him alive... oh and no torture either." He eyes the krogan.

"You know we should install some internal bulletin board system or something, so we can keep track of these things."

"A communication unit can be provided," said Cerastes, settling back into his usual self. Judging it was in his best interests to obey for now, he took a seat and brought up the screens he'd been working on earlier. "You may wish to install more secure ventilation units, as an addendum."

Kirok harrumped, slamming the machete back down on the carving board again. The whole table vibrated with the strike. Mournfully, Kirok turned the page. Well. There was always another time.

"I don't trust this one, Ali. Too slick by far. I dunno why we're lettin' him live, t'be honest. Back inna old day we'd just shove 'im inna pit witha few hungry varren an' wait 'til he felt like talkin.'"

The krogan eyed the page. Chicken Thessia? What the hell kind of recipe was that? Asari didn't even HAVE chicken.

"Alright. Paleface. How much longer y'gonna need?"

"He lives because the boss says he lives, and this is her ship," he rolled his eyes, Kiroks was right of course.

"Anyway I'll just sit here and let you do whatever you do..."