[i]The Citadel, Zakera Ward Docking Bay[/i]

Vik owned an alarm, but it was unused and forgotten, lost beneath a pile of unwashed clothes in a dark corner of his bedroom. Instead he relied on a much more natural call to awakening: the pressing strain of a full bladder. That morning he woke with a groan, wondering if it would be possible to reroute the [i]Wily Varren's[/i] plumbing so he take a piss without leaving his bed. One too many beers the night before had left his body aching and tired, and even after a solid twelve hours of sleep he wanted nothing more than to turn back over and fall back into the dream he'd been having. His overly-saturated body wouldn't allow that, however, so with another groan he rolled off his mattress in a wild tangle of sheets. 

On the floor, his face came to rest on a discarded pizza box. A smiling Turian in a ridiculous puffy white hat smiled up at him from the cardboard, his face spotted with grease. [i]Pizza.[/i] Vik fucking [i]loved[/i] pizza. Andrea had recommended it to him night before, claiming it was a human delicacy. Vik had been skeptical, even moreso when he finally managed to track down the only place on the citadel that made the stuff from dextro ingredients ("Palaven Pies! They're Dextro-licious!"). But, by the spirits, after that first bite...his heart had been stolen, and from then on he knew there was no turning back. He'd ordered three pizzas right then and there, and now their remnants were scattered around his room, bits of crumbs and cheese to mark his culinary conquest. To his joy, he found that the pizza box he'd landed on still had a piece left inside; he stuffed a corner of it into his mouth as he untangled himself from his sheets and moved to the bathroom. 

As he pissed, he couldn't help but bask in the glory of the morning. The sweet feeling of release, the taste of cold pizza on his tongue, the sound of shattering glass from the hallway...[i]Wait, what?[/i] Hurriedly, he finished his business, tugging up his boxers even as he flushed the toilet with one outstretched foot. He dashed back through his room, cursing silently as he nearly tripped over that [i]damned pizza box[/i] before righting himself, and into the adjacent hallway. 

The corridor was a mess. Several floor tiles had been ripped out of place, exposing the wires and pipes beneath. Various tools, bits of metal and shards of shattered glass wre scattered around the remaining floor space. In the middle of it all, waist deep in the ship's innards, was a Quarian. He glanced nonchalantly up at Vik before returning to his work. "Sup?"

Vik's head was spinning. "Mmpf?"

"Hard to hear you when your mouth's full, you know." The Quarian's tone was the epitome of disinterest. With a sharp pull, he yanked a bundle of coiled wires out of the shadows, displacing another floor panel as he did so. 

Vik swallowed the rest of the pizza still filling his mouth before trying again. "Daron? What the fuck are you doing to my ship!?"

"Just replacing some power couplings on your auxiliary cooling systems," Daron replied with a shrug. "Started in the engine room, figured I might as well work my way down the secondary lines towards the stern. Been at it for, oh..." He glanced at his omnitool, "About eight hours now."

"Eight fucking- Wait, how long have you been on my ship?"

"Since you left Omega. Was checking the connections on the drive core-operating systems, and the next thing I knew you'd taken off without even telling me. Figured I might as well get some work done around here as long as I'm stuck on board."

Flustered, Vik struggled to find words that appropriately expressed his confusion and anger. "Wha-I didn't tell you to go messing with my drive core! I didn't even know you were aboard!" A realization struck him suddenly. "And I left Omega over 40 hours ago! Have you just been fucking with my ship that whole time!?"

Daron looked up at him with an unseen smile. "I'm not fucking with it, jackass, I'm improving it." The mechanic pulled himself up and out of the floor. "You should be thanking me."

"Fuck that. And fuck you, don't act like you're not here just so you can piss me off." His voice was filled with garlic and vitrol, but Daron didn't even seem to notice. He was busy wiping a sheen of grease off of his suit and onto a nearby wall. Vik slapped his arm away. "And stop fucking touching things!"

Daron turned to him, tilting his head in that way that Vik knew to represent a cocky smile. "I can't touch [i]anything[/i]?" He moved a few steps closer to the Turian, causing the latter to become even more flustered. "If you really don't want me around, just say the word, and you'll never see me again."

With the Quarian so close, Vik couldn't seem to make his tongue or his brain work. "I, uh....I didn't..."

He was saved by a whoosh of sound as the airlock opened. Once, the [i]Wily Varren[/i] had been a noble and powerful war vessel, a perfect representation of efficiency in form. Years of extensive modifications by Vik had changed all of that. Now the once expansive bridge had become a cluttered mess, with Vik's personal quarters adjoining almost directly to the cockpit and the main airlock. It was through that passage that Andrea came now, calling out over the tops of the dozen of paper bags that filled her arms. "Vik? You awake yet? We're behind schedule already, we were supposed to load up an hour a-" Her voice faltered as she took in the scene before her. "Uh....sorry to interrupt." She shrugged one shoulder at Daron. "Is this guy a...friend of yours?"

Vik couldn't fault her for being confused; Daron always made an interesting first impression. The Quarian's envirosuit was the color of pale copper, the perfect color to serve as a canvas for the extensive drawings and "tattoos" that covered its surface. Nearly every inch of fabric was an explosion of color or shape, full of clashing and contrasting images. A thresher maw coiled its way down his right arm, its jaws snapping at his open palm, its skin the color of a burning sunset. A mass relay blazed blue on his left knee, launching a sinister looking dreadnought up his side and under his arm. His chest was a galaxy, spun with stars and color, and on his back the Citadel was arrayed vertically, its arms unfurling like petals on a flower. Each line of each picture was vibrant, painted on with sure strokes. There were more images than Vik could count, and it seemed a few more added the menagerie every time he looked. He'd asked Daron once what they'd all meant, but had received only a shrug in response. 

If nothing else, the mechanic made quite a striking figure. Andrea was readjusting her bags so that she could move a bang of dark hair out of her eyes and take a closer look, but Daron was already turning away. "A friend? Is that what you call us these days, Vik? Tsk tsk." Without another word, he swung himself back into the hole in the floor, disappearing into the wires and darkness. 

Vik could only shake his head, his thoughts still scattered. Finally he glanced up at Andrea, as if noticing her for the first time. "What's in the bags?"

Obviously confused, but professional as ever, the Human offered him a tentative smile. "Just some groceries."

"Groceries?" Vik asked, one brow arched as if he'd never heard the term before. 

"Yeah. Groceries. You know, like...food? That we can cook?"

"Why would you buy and cook food when you can just pay someone else to make it for you? Seems like a waste of time. I looked it up, by the way, there totally [i]is[/i] a Palaven's Pies on Omega."

Andrea looked like she was about to argue with him, but something else caught her attention first. "Looks like you have a new message," she said, motioning to the blinking light at his wrist. 

Vik opened his omnitool, half surprised and half annoyed. "From Nadene," he confirmed with a yawn. "...six hours ago."

"Six hours?" Andrea's frustrated sigh was so familiar, she might as well have been practicing it. "How many times do I have to tell you, Vik, you need to-"

"Hold on, shut up for a minute." One hand snapped out to cover her mouth while his eyes skimmed over the message's content. Then, with a bright smile, he was off, dashing into the nearby cockpit and throwing himself into the pilot's chair. "Hope you don't need any other 'groceries' or whatever, because we're about to hit the road!" A few flipped switches and pulled levers, and soon the ship's engines were firing to life. 

Andrea moved to stand at his shoulder, rolling her eyes. "Don't you think you should put some clothes on first?"

Vik glanced down, realizing for the first time that he was wearing nothing but the boxers he'd woken up in. "Later. Now," he said, revving the throttle, "it's time to drink!"