[i]Gunners seat, Borealis on route to the Omega System Mass Relay…[/i]

[color=39b54a]”When I come at you with my M11![/color]” Drono sang as the tones of Turian Rap rang inside the cramped gunners seat of the Jalopy. [color=39b54a]”I go pwip pwip while you go like shit! Shit!”[/color] He almost dropped a autowrench as he swung around still quoting the lyrics by heart. [color=39b54a]” They call me the silencer!”[/color] He hollared to the techno beats of a very odd kind of rap that contained more clicking noises then not. It was something he had listened to from the moment he first picked up a gun. Drono wasn't big, scrappy yes but hardly a massive big brawly type. To him, turians were to damn imposing for their own good. They could stretch and lesser creaturs flinched on pure instinct. All that military swagger, that calm and collected way they talked. Velios non withstanding. Velios was like something taken out of rap lyrics. A big time killer and a hardcore thug.

No. What had gotten him over being the little guy was two things. A 'don't dance with the Drell' attitude and devouring everything turian, Krogan and Bartarian. Why those three races? Becouse Krogans were ass kickers, Bartarian were known thugs and Turians were as close as you got to a place where people were military by birth.  He was a drell. If part of the Hedgemony, the drell were known to be taletned agents. But outside of that, nobody was afraid of a drell. They were quiet, contemplating, introverted beings who were model citizens.

Drono had refused to be model on the principle that he hated the idea of settling down. He had wanted adventure. And he had gotten it in spades. He had used slang he picked up from holotapes and music videos. He had forged himself a persona that was swaggering and quick talking. And soon enough, it had seeped into who he was. Now, Drono actually was that smooth talking, quick tempered, unpredictable ”Drell with a plan”. It had become his armor of sorts. All these little tricks and ticks. All these varius ways to turn a word or tweak the situation. But it was also his weakness. A lonely drell is a suffering drell his father always told him. They were big on communion. On spirituality.

The song switched. Another, heavier beat began to thump. He began singing again. [color=39b54a] "I open up like mass accellerator. Hit the gas, shoot out like comet , call me the creator. Go hard like a brrrt brrt pow pow. Work my flow like how.do.he. Doooo eiiiit” [/color]

He had bounced around for so long, he hardly remembered what home felt and smelled like. Well he could trough the eidic memory of all his kind. But his memories was of crawling over metal flore, of searing pain and smell of his own blood. Not of home. 

The music continued to pump as he shut out the memories, the pain, the uncerteinty. Safe in his suit of turian swagger and krogan badass armor.