[hider=Syral and Naomi]Syral looked down; he barely even noticed the jacket bore the insignia of the N7, it was one of very few selections of casual clothes he owned. His life used to be occupied in a uniform; a novel concept to the older, wiser Drell. "Greenest soldier in the Alliance, and not in an amateur sense" Renley had called him that his first day, Renley had the uncanny ability to both offend and entertain Syral simultaneously. "It's why I'm here I guess, the Alliance gets to prove they embrace other cultures and the Council gets to keep my pretty little face" 

"What about you? What major feat of badassitude got you noticed?" Syral had been wondering what got the others picked; with some it was obvious; the scarred human had clearly seen - and survived - a lot of dangerous stuff. He felt like a rookie again, any of his new squadmates could've done something phenomenal, like saving a planet or riding a thresher-maw into battle. He'd just obeyed orders.
"What got me in here" as Naomi wondered. A lot has actually. Considering the fact she was a member of the NGP. Killed Alliance soldiers back then. Pirates, mercenearies, too much to recount. "My occupation as one the most dangerous Biotic Russian human female she said" boastfully. "Destroyed a Separatist ship carrying civilians. I admit, not very pretty but saved an Alliance star-base from exploding from the amount of explosives the terrorist had on-board their ship. Along with other feats such as killing pirate bosses, well known Mercenaries such as Wilson James, saving people, it goes on."
If Syral had eyebrows he'd have been raising them at that point, some pretty impressive accomplishments. He could tell there was something she wasn't telling him, but he also had things he didn't feel comfortable sharing. "Well, I didn't realise I was speaking to a hero. I've had to sacrifice lives too. It's never pretty, but the good of the mission comes first" He sighed, looking to the floor, "Or at least, that's what I tell myself" He swung his legs over the arm of the sofa, sitting facing Naomi, "So, have you had a chat with our commander yet? I'm kinda hoping we're going to go to our first briefing and find him with a lampshade on his head singing old Turian fight songs"
Naomi could tell Syral was interested in her. Though Naomi wasn't interested in any kind of relationship.

"I expect that also" Naomi said with a small laugh. "It should be interesting working with a Turian drunkard. Though I wonder if he's going to take the job seriously, despite his drinking" as Naomi thought about it. She wondered to herself why the Council chose him as the Commander. Surely their wore better options as Naomi thought to herself.
"Are you familiar with the Earth poet Yeats? He once said 'The worst thing about some men is that when they are not drunk they are sober'. Take it as you will, but I trust a man with his record whilst catatonic a lot more than I'd trust a teetotaller with a history of civilian casualties" Syral looked reflective, the second lids of his eyes opened revealing his amber irises, despite the two occupying the same sofa his eyes looked a million miles away. "Definitely more than I'd trust myself"

Battery acid flowing through my veins as I ran into the underwhelming room containing the overwhelming bomb; my commander screamed at me over the radio, telling me to get it over with and disarm the thing. The fifteenth gunshot crashed around my skull as it played through the PA system; gentle sound of sobbing, a woman. The bomb's interface indicated a lack of time for introspection; working slowly, methodically, the interface turns green; I did it. "Surprise, toad" I heard a voice growl; three more gunshots, two in the upper-back, one through the ankle. Anti-personnel rounds, likely from a pistol. Clean wounds.

Syral shook his head, realising he'd slipped into another memory. "It's been great talking, Naomi, but I have to get some rest. I don't want to be half-awake when I'm getting charged by a Krogan with more anger issues than testicles" He stood, shaking hands with her casually; he could still feel the burning pain where the bullets hit as he made his way out of the bar; one distinct advantage of being a Spectre, his bed wasn't going to be a sheet of metal with a blanket.[/hider]