[Omega] The Worst Weekend Ever. EVER.

Cerastes rubbed at his ribbing tiredly. He had so many things he wanted to say to the krogan in response, but most of them would likely result in pain, regardless of what Shirin had said.

"This isn't a school project," he settled for. "Your 'boss' wants me to track down one of the more notorious names in the galaxy. For as little as you value Ms. Suri'Neyvi, she is going to be well-equipped both in terms of arms and proxies. If you want me to sit on your ship the entire time, you will be disappointed. It will take weeks."

He was going to have to do field work eventually. The recognition of this fact was unappealing to him; he favored known scenarios, but this was not a typical assignment.

"My personal suggestion is to let me go, so that I can be more efficient. Unless you want me to stay here at the cost of your living space and supplies..."

"If Shirin sez y'stay, then y'stay," Kirok growled as he scoured the rest of the cookbook and rustled under the counter for onions. "In case y'haven't noticed, y'ain't zactly got th' upper hand at th' moment. Soon as you do yer job, y'can git outta here. An' don't think y'can get past us. Ali's got th' sharpest peepers an' fastest triggerfinger I ever seen, and I'm... well. You know me."

There was a deadly smile as he started chopping the onions with strong, deft strokes.

Cerastes stared at Kirok, deadpan. The krogan might have been trying to intimidate him via kitchen-work, but he was having none of it.

"Ms. Vedral says I get the job done, which requires my leaving this ship." White fingertips rapped on the table, expressing frustration. "I have no intention of challenging your abilities, not when I am going to need my strength for what's to come."

Kirok weighed the options in his head. He was pretty sure letting this drell go was going to be a Bad Idea. But Shirin needed that info, and the krogan was also pretty sure this damned drell was going to stonewall until he got what he wanted.

Decisions, decisions.

"Alright. Git. But if I have t'go huntin' fer you when this is over..."

Kirok chopped another onion in half, the two sides spinning out on the chopping block from the strength of the stroke. He glared at Cerastes with enough venom to power half the animals in Australia.

Injured and tired though he might have been, Cerastes had seen his fair share of the galaxy's darker side. He maintained his steady stare as Kirok chopped at the onion, as though the threat had no weight on him. That was the best way to deal with this sort of... character, he'd learned.

When he felt the moment was right, the drell stood, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his neck roughly from one side to the other. The whole display between the two men was akin to watching two peacocks posturing at each other.

"I will be back once I have spoken to Grom," he said, starting off towards the door. "In the meantime, keep your comms open."

"They'll be open," was all Kirok said as be started dicing the sharp-smelling vegetables.

"WHERE IS THAT FUCKING DRELL."

It was the loudest Jil'Korah had ever intentionally spoken, and the sound of his voice echoed through the corridors of the ship.

"HE HAD BETTER NOT BE ON FIRE YET"

Apparently the quarian had discovered the damaged room, bent and stretched ventilation shafts, and broken gratings, on top of the camera and cot he'd already expected to have to repair.

"I WAS NICE TO HIM. I AM GOING TO SET HIM ON FIRE. WHERE IS THAT FUCKING DRELL."

~Fin~