[Metroplaza Apartment Complex] Catching up with the O'Briens

"You want to do what, exactly?" Duffy asked, polishing off his first beer. "With the way you've been filling my inbox asking to meet at such short notice it leads me to believe I'm the last resort."


Sarah emerged from her bedroom and zipped up the back of her strapless dress. "Just drink with me and my friends. You're not a last resort." She pushed her hair over her shoulder and shot the man a dry smirk. "Last resort is my neighbor's son or my ex. You- You're much higher than last.At least third." She grinned and reached out.

Duffy rolled his eyes as the woman fixed his collar. "Thanks, asshole. Is this going to go like the charity event? A meet-up somewhere?" Sarah shook her head and checked her omnitool.

"No, it should be here, any minute now."

"And the baby? Shouldn't he be here?"

"He's at my sister-in-laws for the night, I'm getting him tomorrow morning. I'm free tonight. You are too, right?" Sarah clasped a bracelet onto her wrist and donned two earrings.

"Not really, but this isn't the worst alternative. Besides," Paul shrugged. "I'm my own boss. What's the worst that could happen?"

"You know, we should leave Siobhán with your sister more often."
Zelana shot Emile a look, but said nothing; even she had to admit they'd had their best night's sleep in a long time without having to wake up every two hours or so because babby didn't like something or other.

Emile could only smirk. He reached up to press the buzzer, wondering whether Sarah had managed the same recently.

The door was opened after a peek at a nearby monitor. Sarah had a practiced smile on her face. "Hey there, both of you made it! I brought beer and I'm making cake and brownies that'll blow your mind. Come in and.." She paused and stepped back, the sudden sound of an alarm blaring from her kitchen.

Paul fled from the common area into the kitchen, Sarah's expression switching to an awkward worry. She twisted her hair and gave a nod. "So.. Have a seat, I'll.. be with you shortly."

She made haste away, following Paul.

Emile was halfway through firing up the old larynx to say hello when Sarah and whoever this other fella was
"So. Er. What's a brownie?"
Emile shrugged. "Kind of a chocolate confection-y thing. I just hope she didn't mean what it sounded like when she said they'd 'blow our minds'."
A smirk. "Oh, you and your misspent youth..."
More like a misspent three hours, mainly filled with giggles and binge-eating followed by what the rest of the party had affectionately termed "megabarf", which was about as delightful as it sounds.

"We end up spending the evening staring at each others' noses and saying 'dude' every other sentence, then we might have to overnight here. Y'know, to avoid getting arrested."

Sarah returned wearing mitts. "Those are exactly the kind I meant." She had a grin she couldn't hide, with her mittened hands grasping Zelana's for a shake.

"Zelana, you look amazing as always! I'm glad you could make it. You two should meet Paul," She glanced back to the kitchen, briefly, before taking a seat on her common room sofa.

Paul wandered back with a new beer. "Oh, uh. Hi. Paul Duffy, Citadel Free Press on the site. You're... Emile?"

Zelana smiled and returned the handshake - remembering not to shake too vigorously this time, damned impenetrable human greeting rituals - and peeked interestedly at the brownies.
"Mmm. They smell as lovely as you look, Sarah."
Emile couldn't help but roll his eyes behind his wife's back as Paul entered.
"Emile, that's right. This here is Zelana, my lady wife."
He grinned, putting his arm around the asari's waist.
"I'm the pretty one. Ouch."
That was a cerulean elbow in his ribs there.

Sarah shook her head. "I think you're going to get in trouble with the wife with that sort of talk. Come in, have a seat."

She made her way back to the kitchen, bringing back a case of beer and a casserole tin filled with the aforementioned fudge brownies. Sarah sat down on the couch, kicking off her high heels.

Paul took a swig of his drink and scratched his beard. "So, Emile, what is it you do for a living?"

Zelana smirked. "He might, at that. Think I might take an extra shift at the club one night soon..."
Emile tried not to react - he really, really did - but his eyes betrayed some serious apprehension at the thought of even more potty-training. The little one was really starting to become a nightmare in that particular department.
Anyway. Change of subject.
"I mainly push papers over in the Alliance's biotic-relations department, and they get me in to talk to biotics sometimes since I can do the glowy bit myself. It's nowhere near as interesting as it sounds."
Ooo, beer. An attempt to pop the cap with his mind yielded little more than a small blue flicker and a headache.
No amp. Buggrit.
By hand it was then. Please don't be manufactured UNAS pisswater...
"So you're a journalist? Something like that?"

Sarah took a seat and tossed a bottle cap into the air, flicking it about with a biotic spark every now and then, between brownie bites. Paul slowly took a seat next to her, his elbows planted on his knees; both of them, the cold metal of his right and the nearly arthritic left. He showed no change in expression, apart from a brief squint of his eye.

"I'm a photojournalist. I'm the one that broke the news of Grissom Academy's reopening on CDN and other sites. I also interview people and, you know, get my name out there." He reclined, but not before grabbing another beer and allowing the blonde next to him to blast the cap off with a biotic thump.

"I used to run with a news agency, then I went through the military to cover the reaper invasion. I know you, Zelana," he pointed his beer at her, "own a club on the Citadel. I've been there every now and then." He took another drink. Sarah finished off her brownie.

"Emile, how's it feel to have a toddler for decades? I'm not sure I'd be able to handle it." Sarah asked, cracking a grin.

"Oh, she won't be a toddler for decades. In fact, it's only a bit longer than for humans - she'll be a teenager for something like thirty years."
An astute observer might have noticed a sliiiiiiiiiiiight tightening of Emile's grip on his beer bottle.
"How's, er..." Alfred? Archibald? Alkaseltzer? "...your own little bundle of screams?"

Zelana ignored her husband (again) and cocked an eyeridge at Paul.
"That I do. I haven't been behind the bar much, with the little one and all, but we're almost back up to the kind of level we were before someone left husk all over it."

Paul shook his head. "I really like the club. Lots of aesthetics I find familiar, I used to frequent clubs in northern Europe. Once found one made into the side of a glacier." He stole a brownie and gave it a once over before cramming it into his mouth. After a few bites and chews, he leaned back into his seat on the couch.

Sarah leaned forward, taking another sip from her drink. She seemed to be very relaxed, compared to the already-relaxed Sarah from just moments ago.

"I'm glad you like it, Zelana replied with a smile, "we've put a lot of work into it. Especially the cocktails. Loooooove making new cocktails."
Mental note: big block of ice in club? Feasible?

Zelana glanced over at Sarah's beer, noting the effect it had - on a biotic, no less.
"I've never seen that brand before. How is it?"