[hr][b]Errol Vahn[/b]
[hr][quote][b]// A FEW DAYS AGO, TRANSPORT SHIP //[/b]

[color=lightgray][i]Errol Vahn didn’t know where he was on the ship or how he was going to get out of this scenario, honestly he was aptly and painstakingly screwed. There was an ancient expression of his people to describe the situation he was in reflecting upon a creek without a paddle, of which fit his predicament exactly. Though he seriously doubted when it was created it would not have been used to describe being in the middle of nowhere with alien raiders violently usurping the crew that kept the ship together, if it was then ancient humans were frickin’ weird. Everything in the previous few hours outside of the ‘invasion’ had gone to plan and for a good while he thought things were going to be different this time around. But not anymore, things were not going to be different, in fact everything was pretty much the same... sort of. Errol had never been in a situation where he was on a ship under siege by raiding mercenaries, though he had been on the opposite end of the stick before when he was working for Graymane, of which the group had raided a Batarian vessel a few years back. Perhaps this was karma? But Errol didn't believe in karma, so maybe not.

It all had started when Errol Vahn had been approached by a man named Robert Calcowski, who apparently worked as a middleman for Errol’s own father—a father that he hadn’t seen in years and didn’t exactly have the fondest of memories for. ErdeCo had been the subject of corporate espionage and Errol was to stop the spy before he reached Feros to dispel ErdeCo secrets which basically was an implied assassination gig. Errol felt no loyalty for his father, but he felt his father’s wallet was offering him a way to get in the business and get a reputation excluding a failed PMC company on his resume so that was pretty stellar if you asked Errol himself. So he got aboard this starcraft with the knowledge that the corporate spy from ExoGeni was onboard and a little bit before things got hairy he had made sure that the spy was swiftly dealt with. It was the first death before the chaos and now Errol was regretting accepting the job from ErdeCo since it was likely he’d be killed by Vorcha before he could get paid for what he had successfully done. 

Why couldn’t things be simple?

“Why couldn’t these guys be somebody much more pleasant? Like the Blue Suns?” 

Errol’s voice quipped under his breath as his back hugged a corridor wall amongst the dimly lit passageway. Errol had no clue if the Blood Pack had made off with whatever their gain was from attacking this murky starship, but he did particularly know that there were appropriately armed vorcha still looming around the occasional corner. Something of which he knew very well when he turned a corner several minutes ago and ended up barely scraping by. ‘Thank the lord for guns’ he had thought at the time as the most he came out with was a headache and some persistent claw marks on his right forearm that he had to almost waste the rest of his medi-gel supply on so it didn’t get infected by some nasty alien bacteria. The wound still ached like a fresh cut mended with salt, and Errol’s expression on his face as he traveled cautiously with his left hand gripping his Devlon Industries issued Stinger Handgun while his right hand pressed against the wall.

“I hate vorcha.” He muttered under his breath, “Such filthy, senseless, savage creatures…. like a doberman with the ability to wield a machine gun.”[/i][/color][/quote]
[b]// PRESENT DAY, OMEGA //[/b]

“I still hate vorcha.”

It had been only a few solar hours since Errol touched back down on the familiar territory of Omega, and part of him felt like it would’ve been better to die on the ship then survive a firefight through an assortment of vorcha that may as well had been a damned [i]army[/i]. Both of his hands raised to his head as he could still [i]hear[/i] the ringing of the gunfire in his head— he could still [i]feel[/i] the thumping of the ship as it clumsily wobbled through space as it had been forced to take a nosedive into a god-damned [i]asteroid field[/i]—  he could still [i]see[/i] the visage of what the vorcha [i]did[/i] to their targets… the unsuspecting passengers didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. They were as done as a crappy Alliance ordinance MRE. 

[i]Just add water for flavor.  [/i]

But somehow he had made it out with all of his limbs. He supposed that was a lot how instinct worked and even as he got older he still had his wits, instincts, and reflexes. They may not have been as [i]quick[/i] as they used to be but they were still there and that was all that really mattered. He audibly groaned as he winced. If he the aching all over his body didn’t make him feel sore and fatigued from Sol to Terminus, the lack of a good sleep cycles damn well would’ve. But he wasn’t ready to sleep and he sure as hell wasn’t going to pass out in a vomit-encrusted service entry at the foot of Afterlife. Not unless he wanted to wake up inebriated, naked, and with his important organs missing, anyway.

“I need a damn drink.”

Taking a heavy breath he looked up towards Afterlife as his hands dropped from his head. He could hear the thumping tribal rhythms from inside. It definitely made him feel an immediate problem being that he was sore all over and could use a good drink— but the music was [i]loud[/i] and he had a [i]migraine[/i]. He thought for a minute as his hands rested on his knees.

“Make that seven.”

Errol rose to his feet as he grabbed the cuff of his jacket before giving it a hard tug as if to straighten it out. He sighed, he still smelled like dead vorcha and he didn’t look too hot either, but most of the people going in and out of Omega didn’t look much better so he supposed he shouldn't have been too picky. He started moving towards the nightclub side entrances, hands shuffled in his pockets— walking past one of the guards who he had a sort of agreement with. Errol didn’t like main entrances, and considering Errol was a regular he didn’t exactly need to wait in line. The krogan bouncer knew that fact quite well. Errol gave the krogan a nod as he entered, the music getting exponentially louder and more [i]annoying[/i] as he did so. He groaned in irritation, but he knew the nearest bartender wasn’t too much of a walk. Plus they were on a first name basis; so basically e-budz. 

Ignoring the hustle and bustle he took a seat at the counter.

“Seven. The usual. Hold the [i]actual[/i] poison, thanks.”