Ekrom walked through the markets, looking for that one upgrade that was actually worth the credits. Vorcha hissed at him as he passed, but on closer inspection of his considerable firepower, grew silent and backed away. Here in Omega, power was the real solution and Ekrom wasn't lacking that in any respect. After closing the last vendor's inventory, he snorted in disgust and wandered onto the main pavilion. Omega's music reached him even from the doors, a low thrum felt through the soles of his feet and a steady throb of music, muffled by its walls. 

He made his way to the illustrious club, waved through by the elcor bouncer. Walking down the hallway towards the doors, various faces and eyes turned to regard the drell with curiosity and wariness. Not many ever saw a drell in full armor and armed to the teeth. Ekrom was a regular face among the wards, his skills freelanced to any of the mercenary groups around Omega.

He'd received a vidcomm from one of Aria's bodyguards informing him of a lucrative contract handled by a female turian. Usually the man's intel was substandard at best, but this might actually prove to be worthwhile of the infamous mercenary. The krogan bouncer gave him a respectful nod, seeing the Claymore holstered at his lower back. Any krogan worth his hump would've known the deadly weapon at a glance, the weapon revered by their species. Anyone other than a krogan that could wield its recoil was worthy of a bit of space. Ekrom scanned the bar, the music nearly overwhelming to his finely tuned senses.

He caught sight of a female turian speaking to a human, regular soldier turned mercenary by his looks. Next to her sat an asari, extremely attractive, but he could tell she was trained by the way she nursed her drink. Keeping a clear head was a sign of a professional. Crossing the floor, weaving between dancers with a fluid grace, Ekrom took the seat the human had just cleared after cracking a foolish batarian. 

The ugly four-eyed alien in question had still not moved from the place he landed, still clutching his stomach and groaning. He signaled the bartender, "Two fingers of Serrice brandy." The expensive drink wasn't something usually ordered, the bartender opening a new bottle. Ekrom didn't usually drink, but when he did he preferred the cool but stinging drink above all else. He turned in the stool, one elbow comfortably on the counter, his free hand bringing his glass to lips for a small sip. Oh yes, that was delicious. "I don't know about the human, but I am certainly interested." His voice was gravelly like most drell, but sounded like he was still young. Age was hard to pin down for a drell. He flagged down the bartender once more. "Whatever her drink was, replace it on me." He gave her a charming smile and introduced himself. "I go by Ekrom."