[color=#5CB3FF]”Guns.”[/color] The Drell stared at the stall infront of him. [color=#5CB3FF]”So many, glorious, well made, death spitting guns.”[/color] Drono spoke as his face was all but glued to the glass. The proprietor of said guns glared at him,. [color=#2ffFFC]”Get your face off the glass Drono. You are drooling.”[/color] The turian was named Karris and was about as fond of of the Drell mercenary in front of him as he was exotic diseases. For two years, Drono had showed up  only to not buy anything, he just stuck around and acted like the worst case of window shopper possible. About a year or so ago, Drono had appeared at his door waving his over sized handgun and tried to rob him. Karris had been able to talk the distressed Drell down from being quite so dumb. After that he had found out Drono was apparently dependent on super expensive treatments and in desperate need of cash. In the time they had known each other, Drono had changed from a level headed if quick talking and stupidly flashy asshat. Into a desperate, irrational yet quick talking and stupidly flashy asshat. The turian folded his arms across his chest and stared at the drell infront of him. When Drono finally tore his head from the displays he grinned sheepishly.

[color=#5CB3FF]”I don't suppose you take debit card?”[/color] Drono said as he his fingers played across the displaycasing. [color=#2ffFFC]”I would. If it was from some guy with money. Get out of my shop Drono. I know you are broke. Everyone knows it.”[/color] The Turian didn't sound angry, or even stern. He sounded almost pleading. It ticked Drono off. It was all he could do from pulling his executioner and start  some bullet diplomacy. But Karris  did not deserve his ire, it was true, Drono spent to much time drooling over his guns. The former smuggler now bounty hunter had likely wierded out more then one customer in the store. He straightened his back out and affixed Karris with a stare that lasted for all but two second before he turned on his heel.

[color=#5CB3FF]”Screw you Karris. You won't be laughing when my rich ass returns and refuses to shop at your place but go down to that Krogans workshop.”[/color] He waved dismissively, not hearing Karris call him some words that'd make even a elcor ambassador upset. Making his way towards the rust bucket that was their ship, he managed to lift some sweet and sticky fruit out of a humans rug sac when the owner wasn't looking. Placing the succulent delicacy between his teeth as he chomped down, the reality of his economical situation truly sank in as his belly rumbled and objected. He hadn't eaten a proper meal all day. But he pushed it out of his head. He had a captain to see about a bright and expensive future.

.-....-...

Drono cursed. He cursed the Hanar for saving his people. He cursed his crewmates for simply being around him while he cursed. He cursed his own dumb ass for turning his back on a Salarian. He cursed the bucket of bolts and rickety rigging that was their ship. The goddamn captain was dead. Beyond that, he was dead and they had no idea what to do, who to do it to, and where to begin doing things. Disaster was to kind of a word.  A ship exploding and killing people was a disaster. At least they were put out of their miserty. This was down right a catastrophe. For all but a second, he wondered what a bullet to the temple would feel like. He contemplated shooting the Turian that came hurdling towards them before that however. Just because he reminded him of Karris. And the urge only grew as more bad news heaped upon the allready steaming pile of vorcha excrement that was his life. Speaking of Vorcha. They had a Vorcha on board. Who thought that was a good idea? So many questions ran trough his admittedly confused mind. How old was it. Would it just drop dead on them? Would it try to eat them? Would it take affront to the fact that Dronos gun had been looted from a dead Vorcha? All these though came out as a very poignant and thought provoking; 

[color=#5CB3FF]”Gunners Seat is mine.”[/color] [i]Smooth Drono. Real smooth.[/i] [color=#5CB3FF]”And I am not taking a bottom bunk. Ever.”[/color] Wow. He was a real talker. They were all eating out of the palm of his hand. Or thinking of eating the the palm of his hand maybe. Thats when he realized the crowd had dispersed well before he had fished talking. So much for a career as a public spokesman. He narrowed his eyes and ducked into the ship himself.

[color=#5CB3FF]”By the hanars most private tentacle, this place is a junkyard.”[/color] He mused, not entirely in a disapproving way either. The ship was a rust bucket, it was true. But it had charm he had to admit. The Drell made his way to the crew quarters and he found that the beds were about as rickety as the rest of the ship. Oh well, who needed sleep anyways. His next stop on the tour of their flying coffin was the ships main gunnery station. At this point, they had left the dock and headed out for space

[color=#5CB3FF]”uh guys.”[/color] He said once he located the ships intercom. [color=#5CB3FF]”Why does the ship have a 22 year old Targeting System?” [/color]He keyed trough a series of algorithms and checked that there was no blockage in the ships main cannon. Then he stared at the screen, the coolant system was unfinished. Firing their one remotely big gun could make the entire thing melt.  Making some quick calculations in his head he swore. He had a hour to fix this. Grabbing a harness he grunted. ”Dont fly anywhere just yet. I need to fix something.” He headed out after grabbing a few tools from the service locker. Fastening the harness to him, he clipped it to the side of the ship and began the climb along  along the underside of it. He finally found the service hatch and with some effort got it open. [color=#5CB3FF]”....Hanars holy Enlightened cloeka”[/color] He said as he just barely avoided getting coolant all over his face.

[color=#5CB3FF]"Well. Shit.”[/color] He mumbled as he crawled inside the outer interior of the ship.