[center][h3]Regent Park Pub[/h3]  [I]A collab with Dervs, Birb, Easy, and Fox[/I][/center][hr]The evening was going surprisingly pleasantly, and Rykarn found himself enjoying Sicaria's company. It was good to know that he was heading off on some assignment with at least one person he had common ground with; being trapped on a starship with a group of people you could barely tolerate was something he didn't care to revisit. Granted, the krogan didn't really know anyone at this point, and he was hardly looking for companionship, but having someone you could talk to or take a break from duties with that didn't make you want to rip their arms off was certainly something that you couldn't put a price on.   And so, when the anachronistic batarian and the geth arrived and immediately took a seat next to Rykarn, butting into the conversation like some child who saw a group of kids playing and immediately had to show off all of his toys, Thesaurus of the Skyllian Blitz hopped right into the conversation unwarranted like he'd been there the whole time. On Omega, that's the kind of thing that ended up getting a knife in the gut. Then again, on Omega, someone didn't really need any justification to stab another. It was kind of how things went.   

[color=gray]"Breathe. Just breathe."[/color] Rykarn muttered under his own breath, turning his head enough that one eye was staring back at Ja'Far.    [color=gray]"Nosy little pyjak, aren't ya?"[/color] he asked, downing his drink, the eye never leaving the batarian. It was almost as if Rykarn didn't need to blink. [color=gray]"Do you always introduce yourself to people by telling them you murdered your mother before dropping a name?"[/color] glancing back at Sicaria, he added. [color=gray]"You must be swooning."[/color] he said to the turian, grinning.  Turning back to Ja'Far, he ordered up another glass, his pile of empties already growing. 

[color=gray]"It's also common courtesy to ask if you can butt-in and eavesdrop with people you don't know who are supposed to be working with you, but given that it sounds like you've spent most of your life in a prison jumpsuit or murdering people close to you, I guess we can let it slide. But yeah, Ravanor Rykarn, friend's Sicaria. You've seen us fight. Actually kind of impressed you caught our names. You and the geth know how to fight, too. Give you that."[/color]    

Ja'Far made a huff sound, taking another drag of his cigar. He had the scars, old wounds and scratches to prove it too. From fighting rebellions throughout the Eagle Nebula to killing a high-caste diplomat and his entourage who thought he could become the "big man", he'd seen it all. At least he thought so. This Krogan seemed to defy all logic when it came to previous knowledge of his species. He was stubborn but diplomatic. He was one of the few people in the Taskforce who was reasonably sane. He didn't want to interrupt the Krogan so he kept these thoughts to himself.  

Popping a finger pinch of the stale peanuts in his mouth, Rykarn chewed thoughtfully before continuing. [color=gray]"What brings us here? I helped rebuild this damn place, along with the closest three city blocks, over the past few years. Been coming here nearly every night for a year. So you can imagine, I'm somewhat attached to this place. I don't know if you really want me getting into war stories, you've already seen what I do. Only difference is what I'm shooting at, and you probably wouldn't be too keen on hearing about my time fighting with the Abolitionists on Anhur against the batarians who thought enslaving the human population was a great idea, even though I got some shiny medals for it. We all fought Reapers, so that's not really worth mentioning, although this will be my second time working for a Spectre."[/color] He said with a shrug, slowing down on his drink, pondering if he should try one of those fruity cocktails with the paper umbrellas. Being rationed for most of a year made him stick to thinks that hit hard enough to make one drink pay off. 

[color=gray]"And coming from Tuchanka, pretty much every day was a war story. It's what krogan do. If we're not killing aliens, we're killing each other, and not giving much of a crap about what gets caught in between. Asking me for war stories is like asking that human over in the corner with the wedding ring mark with his arms wrapped around the young woman with the side cut on his lap how his infidelity's going. It's such a common thing that it takes something really unique to stick out and not get lost in the haze."[/color]  The Batarian nodded, not fully understanding the depth of Rykarn's knowledge. His species only lived the average 100 years after all, he could not comprehend what it would be like to live for centuries. He shuddered to think of experiencing 10 of his lifetimes, thinking of all the horrors he would encounter in 1000 years. He was happy with his own mortality, thank you very much.  
 
The Geth tilted its head a little as it listened to the Batarian and the Krogan's retort, looking at the three organics sitting before moving to the chair beside Ja'Far. Turning its head to look at them again in examination, before down at the chair. Glowing eye shifting a bit, its three fingers picked up the chair to pull it back, before moving infront of it, gingerly pulling it closer before placing its hindquarters down on the sitting tool. Looking at the other patrons in examination for a moment, it placed its hands on the counter like many others seem to be doing, besides if they lift their drinks to their mouths or are preoccupied with touching other organics.  Turning its head to watch Ravanor Rykarn order another drink, his empty glass joining the rest of the krogan's collection, the synthetic looked to the bartender and raised a hand slightly, waving gently to and fro.  

[color=plum]"Excuse me, may I partake in a alcoholic beverage?"[/color] Phalanx said, earning a pause from the blonde barmaid, arching a eyebrow at the mechanical lifeform.   

[color=springgreen]"...Uh huh. Right. Ya gonna pay? And what kind ya want?"[/color] she asked, unsure if she should satisfy this Geth's request.  

[color=plum]"Affirmative. Any type will be satisfactory."[/color] The Geth answered, earning a roll of the eyes before the female went to get the drink.  When she returned, she set a oddly shaped glass container in front of the synthetic. It looked similarly to a milk carton with light brown liquid inside. A odd red and white swirly stick half inside and half hanging outside of it.  Phalanx curiously examined it, the metallic faceplating shifting as it moved its head side to side.  

[color=springgreen]"Enjoy the Cereal Killer, robo."[/color] The woman mused before moving on to assist other customers.  Phalanx looked up from its examination briefly to watch the woman. 

[color=plum]"Appreciate the service."[/color] it responded before looking to the Krogan as he spoke. Tilting its head slowly before starting to speak to its comrades. [color=plum]"Greetings, Ravanor Rykarn and Sicaria Velinian. System 42009874563001 reporting. Call Sign, Phalanx. Classified, Infiltrator. Pleasant to make acquaintances and further achieve answers. Permission to interact with comrades Ravanor Rykarn and Sicaria Velinian to further relations for the probability of working together for a long period of time?"[/color] it repeated in response to the Krogan making introductions. Falling silent as it sat waiting for the permission the Krogan seemed to note that it was common courtesy among organics.  

The enjoyable moments between Sicaria and Rykarn were broken down by a Batarian introducing himself as Ja'Far, which oddly enough included a mention of both filicide and matricide, wasn't exactly welcome given the circumstances.  In the following moments, Rykarn gave his take on war stories and interrupting a small group of people, while the Geth introduced itself as Phalanx and ordered itself a drink... for some reason.  

[color=92278f]"Tell you what, you did a good job out there, Ja'Far.  I'll give you a story... if you pick up my tab off of Rykarn."[/color]  Waiting for the Batarian to either accept or deny the offer, she finished off her second drink while practically staring down the pair of eyes he had left.  She set the glass down on bar and leaned on it, looking over as the Geth recieved his drink.  [color=92278f]"I wouldn't try to drink that, by the way.  Electronics and liquids don't tend to mix well."[/color]  

Phalanx turned its head slightly to direct its glowing one eye towards the Turian female as she warned of the dangers between mixing liquid with electronics. [color=plum]"This platform was not built with a oral function. Ingestion of liquid is near improbable. The rest of the outward is constructed with a shell and synthetic tissue to assist in preventing liquid damage. I researched that it is also considered inhospitable to attend this type of establishment without purchasing anything, and among comrades. Still, I am curious over the hyper activity organics entertain in known as drinking and 'getting wasted' as some data describes."[/color] it answered, cupping the glass and lifting it up. The colorful straw lightly bumping against the eye. Adjusting to rest just below it where its audio part remained, most likely the closest thing organics would call a 'mouth.'  All the while, the lone Turian at the bar gave the robot a look of inquiry.  

It seemed overly analytic, took everything literally, but hopefully it wouldn't cause a problem.  She couldn't help but chuckle a bit as her drink was replaced for a second time, fingertips taking hold of the top of the new glass.  [color=92278f]"Social lubricant, most people call it.  That basically means many drink this stuff to make conversations flow easier.  Some do for the taste, and others for forgetting about the outside world a few hours... which is what I'm doing right now."[/color]  

The Batarian in the group just looked on at the scene with slight amusement, previously content with letting everyone saying their piece. He had yet to say anything and let the conversation flow, though he did think about Sicaria's offer. Seeing a lull in the conversation, he cleared his throat and spoke up, a little more politely this time. [color=olive][b]"If I may interject, I shalt pay for Sicaria's tab then. And if sér Rykarn has overmany stories, I shan't beseech you. Sicaria, may you start with your story? I wilt start with drinks. "[/b][/color] He raised a hand, ordering another drink for all four of them, hesitating a little to order one for Phalanx. He took another drag of his cigar and blew smoke high to the ceiling, watching it get sucked up by one of the smoking vents. He watched as four drinks slid across the counter, catching a sliding glass of [i]trakh[/i], taking a quick swig of the liquid. He put the glass down and inclined his head, signalling the Turian to start.

Sicaria took a sip of her new drink and faced the other three, mulling over where she could begin.  Evacuation of Earth?  No, too recent, everyone had lived through that themselves.  Something from Omega?  Yes, that was more like it.

[color=92278f]"Well, about four years ago when I got to Omega, I got robbed blind right off the ship.  It was a standard crew of pickpockets, some smalltime gang that had no real sway on the station, but they were efficient.  Two Quarians, a Krogan, and a Turian... who I ended up taking home later, but that's beside the point.  Anyway, the Krogan bumped into me and knocked my shotgun to the floor, he seemed nice enough though.  Apologized for it, gave me my gun back, but I felt someone grab my ass during that.  So I turn around and I see the two Quarians running into the crowd with something in their hands.  It was my credit chit, they stole it off my belt,"[/color] she remembered, pausing for a moment to drain her glass, the bartender being fast to replace it as always.  With four drinks in her at this point, it was a wonder she wasn't giving away any signs of intoxication.

She took another sip before continuing.  [color=92278f]"Well, I start chasing after them, yelling about how they stole my chit, and the Turian ends up tackling me into a gap between two shops.  Would've said he was sexy, but he was trying to punch me out.  Well it took a minute but I got him off me, probably broke his collar too, but those two Quarians were on the other side of the station by then.  So I gave up on it, got a job in Afterlife for awhile... you can guess what it was."[/color]  The Turian downed half of the drink as she started to become a little more sluggish, hunching forward.  [color=92278f]"Well a couple months of that passed before I found one of those assholes...  it was the Turian, got him to pay for a lapdance, brought him into a back room.  I gave him the dance, that wasn't the problem, but I picked my chit off him.  And I stole his while I was at it, never knew what hit him."[/color]  She chuckled to herself, wobbling slightly in her seat as she reached for her beverage again.

Rykarn nearly choked on his drink at that. Of all the things she was, attracted to krogan and a former stripper weren't at the top of that list. Still, it was commendable she managed to turn the whole ordeal to her advantage in the end.

Phalanx tilted its head as it silently listened to the female turian's story, gingerly stirring the red and white emergency induction port device against its alcohoic liquid. Its glowing blue eye watching the turian organic without so much as turning away. Probably a bit unnerving as it was incapable of blinking. [color=plum]"Why would you escort someone home whom has stolen from you? Was it perhaps to make a proper thorough search in order to reclaim your belongings?"[/color] the synthetic questioned, obviously taking the words very literally and not understanding the hidden meaning behind them. It didn't understand why organics seemed to want to hide things within their words. Geth were always direct, got their point across. Organics seemed to be just very confusing with their communication. 

It paused from awaiting a answer as it noticed the Turian's posture slowly take a more sluggish change. Heart rate slightly off from preferred rate. [color=plum]"Sicaria Velinian, recommending you cease further ingestion of alcoholic liquids. Risk of passing out, losing proper thought, and pain when the morning comes. And proceed to start drinking plenty of water."[/color] Phalanx whirred, its flaps lightly twitching around its eye.

In response to the suggestion to stop, Sicaria looked over and stuck two fingers of her left hand out at the robot. Ja'Far patted the Geth's shoulder, shaking his head at Sicaria with a stupid grin on his face. Taking another swig of [i]trakh[/i], he shook his head. [color=olive][b]"Phalanx, thou shant tell a soldier to stop drinking. It's rude, I'll teach you about it later. For now, more drinks!"[/b][/color] He raised his glass once more, going for a toast. If he wanted to bond with his team, he needed to do it properly. Phalanx looked at Ja'Far curiously for a moment, then at the glass, processing through its databanks and system information before lifting one of its own beverages and as gently as it could, clink it against Ja'Far's beverage. It was generally confused, but it had apparently did something incorrect.  It should not be concerned for the Female Turian's health?

[color=gray]"By the Void, the Geth's probably older than all of us put together and I still feel like we're bringing a minor into this place."[/color] Rykarn observed, appreciating the fact Ja'Far was acting like an intermediary. 

[color=plum]"Approximately a one hundred and fifty-six year difference."[/color] Phalanx calculated instantly.

[color=gray]"Never was a fan of Omega, myself. I like actual air, trees, shit like that isn't the strench of millions of people crammed entirely too close together. It's part of why I liked Anhur, the climate was nice. It wasn't a damned wasteland that has winds that can rip a squishy's skin off and I didn't have to kill other krogan for scraps and respect like Tuchanka. I ran with the Blood Pack for a while, wasn't a fan of how they ran things and being stationed on planets where you're forced to wear a rebreather just to go outside is a load of pyjak dung."[/color] Rykarn said, running his finger around the rim of his half-finished glass. 

[color=gray]"So, getting a job on Anhur fighting for something that wasn't harassing if not outright abusing people under me was definitely a breath of fresh air, both in the literal and methaphorical sense of the term. I like humans, they haven't been around long enough to carry baggage of centuries of mutual hate, they still have a hope that the krogan have long forgotten, and they don't give a shit who you are, they'll take it as good as they give it. Part of why I stayed and fought for them was the credits, of course, but... there was a respect there. People actually didn't look at me as a brutish enforcer or a monster. I was a hero to those people. It was hard to leave when the Reapers arrived, but... family comes first."[/color] Rykarn said, picking up his glass once more, slowing his pace as his expression grow a bit more somber. 

Ja'Far paused at this, holding his glass to his lips. He glanced at Rykarn before setting his glass down and staring at the swirling liquid. He had never thought about the people fighting for the other side. Whether mercenary, terrorist, separatists or pirates, he didn't really care. It was part of the job, no matter how callous that seemed. The moment you started caring on the battlefield, the moment you start thinking too deeply... Your mind wouldn't be able to handle it. [i]His[/i] mind wouldn't be able to handle it. He had meditated upon this sort of behaviour before but to no avail. It was too personal. It brought too many memories that he wanted buried. He didn't want to think how he was on the bad side during the Anhur Separation, even though he never directly fought in the conflict. The Hegemony was his home, he fought for the flag and would willingly die by the flag. He had memories, brothers and sisters of war. And yet they were the antagonist. Suppressing a revolution never sat with him very well but he was just doing his job. Was that a bad excuse? Did his sins weigh on him that much? Suddenly, the weight on his shoulders doubled in size.

The Boogeyman sighed and downed his third glass, feeling the light buzz. [i]Trakh[/i] was a powerful drink but he could hold his liquor well enough. At least he hoped so, he wouldnt want to get drunk in front of his co-workers. Rolling his shoulders to bear the weight, he nodded at Rykarn sympathetically. [color=olive][b]"Aye, I dost hast an inkling of what thou says. Had to abandon a Terminus settlement to save a Batarian one. T'was... horrifying to see an overmany of bodies after Reaper harvest."[/b][/color] The tone was bitter though he sat up straight and smiled, deciding not to think about such things. Turning to face the Geth, he clinked his glass against it's metal body, nodding at it to keep the stories going.

Listening for a moment, Phalanx turned its gaze to watch the other patrons. Every one of them was organic, not one was similiar to the Geth. It stood out amongst them. Alone. Watching as these fleshy lifeforms conducted with their socialization through words and what they call 'body language' in order to interpret what other organics wanted. Such things were new to the Geth program. It never needed such things in order to socialize. It was one with many, it was only one fragment of a mind just a year ago, and now it all was quiet. Organics would call such developments as this 'noisy' but it was a miniscule comparison compared to Geth programs inhabiting one mind space. Phalanx had to calculate what to discuss about.

Should it speak of the Morning War? Not many organics actually know of the events. Only the Geth and the Creators, and the Creators memories have been slightly altered due to the anger of their ancestors. Yet was it something anyone really needed a explanation? They knew war, they knew rebellion. They also knew what came with war. It calculated that perhaps for now, it would be unwise to share a tale from that event.

[color=plum]"It has been two hundred and ninty-one years since I have seen a organic, in a peaceful manner. The first time in was the Creators, and then the Creators once more when they made their return to Rannoch. Geth find organic socialization insufficent. We calculated and formilated information that could be found through the network of each species. We know what you are, that was enough. Apologies for appearing uncouth. I did not wish for Sicaria Velinian to end up like a target I once had. System Alliance requested my skills in apprehending a human expected crimes of murder, molestation, and theft. Without harming him. He indulged in a suffienct amount of alcohol when I apprehended him, easily able to corner him in a dark alley. I was required to do this silently, so inserted two fingers within his oral entrance. He attempted to bite, but such a act is ineffective especially since humans lack strength in their jaws to cut off Geth fingers. It however caused bleeding of the white conductive fluid to spill down his esophagus. Unhealthy for human consumption. So I proceeded to flick the uvala organ in order to cause the process to expell such contents. He ended up on the ground in a excessive amount of organic fluids. Mostly consisting mostly of alcoholic liquids, and scraps of what the food the bar offered."[/color] Phalanx explained, in its suppose own story. Seeming to lack the social tact of such a thing at a establishment that delt with consumables, could cause some patrons to be nauseous. Though it had calculated through the network some found it entertaining, and that it was a reason to be concerned. It would not be well if its comrades ended up drinking so much to be caught unaware and in a predictament where they end up too ill to even stand up. Still, it wasn't going to force them to stop. Just lend assistance where it could.

The local Batarian had stopped drinking his second bottle and stared at Phalanx with a strange expression. Not one to feel sick often, he felt like he was about to lurch at the detailed description but laugh at the same time. The bar seemed to have paused around them, various expressions ranging from sickness to amusement all staring at the oblivious A.I. Again, he would need to teach it about overdoing it's explanations. One did not want to know how the specifics of a Geth making a man vomit. He would dread the day that he will need to explain the varren and the {insert}. Surely it knew that already, right? He felt like another drink.

Sicaria kept her eyes on the Geth, listening to its tale as she finished a fifth drink.  [color=92278f]"I'm gonna stop you right there, it's a bad idea to talk about vomiting when someone's eating."[/color]  She slid the glass to the edge of the bar as yet another full one came down to replace it.  Ja'Far would probably have words for her by the end of this night. In fact, the Batarian seemed to trace her movements as another drink came in, watching his credits go down the drain.

[color=plum]"But you are drinking, not eating."[/color] Phalanx chirped.

[color=92278f]"Or drinking, same difference,"[/color] the Turian snapped back.

[color=plum]"Eating requires the process of chewing solids in order for the stomach acids to properly digest the nutrients at a steady rate. Drinking is consuming needed nutrients through liquid that processes through the body at a faster rate and not satisfying the feeling of fullness. But apologies for the sensitive subject."[/color] Phalanx answered, gingerly stirring its alcoholic liquid in a methodic manner. Meanwhile, it's self-proclaimed mentor seemed to drag his hand over his face, scratching his upper brow.

[color=gray]"Should've brought the geth a colouring book."[/color] Rykarn muttered behind his glass.

[color=olive][b]"Remind me next time. Thou cometh and deliver the crayons."[/b][/color] Ja'Far started to feel like he had just adopted a child, emptying the contents of his second bottle into his mouth.

Phalanx pondered for a moment, processing its thoughts as it continued to watch the other patrons. Studying their habits and movements. It didn't particuarly understand why Sicaria was upset however it was willing to change the subject. So it formulated another one. For just a moment, it pondered its Creator, causing it to pause in its methodic stirring. Before looking toward the others and tilted its head curiously. [color=plum]"What were your progenitors like?"[/color] the synthetic lifeform asked.

The former-Legionnaire hummed, staring at his warped reflection on the bottle. He wondered whether or not to censor his childhood. Should he tell the truth? Or should he lie about his horrible parents? He decided to take a middle route, thinking that there was only one progenitor to him. However, he decided to correct the A.I on it's wording. [color=olive][b]"Progenitor is an inorganic word, Phalanx. Too formal, 'tis clunky. And to answer thine inquiry, I killed one of them. That must describe how they were like by itself. Betwixt life and death, I would choose their death every time."[/b][/color] He chuckled at his own morbid joke, setting the bottle down in front of him [color=olive][b]"There was only one who I could claim to look up to. Her name was Siarus. She was a slave who took care of me during my youth, felt like an angel to me. She was my sister, my mother and my caretaker. She gave me good company while those one-eyed, varren eating [i]takta[/i] were being.... well, just as I descirbed."[/b][/color] His smile seemed to widen after every word. It would normally be unsettling to see a Batarian smile because it was usually filled with dirty promises. It always masked a dagger, teeth filled with cunning to tear you apart. However, the smile on the soldier's face was genuine, happy and free. 

The synthetic listened silently, deciphering and decoding the words, rewriting its intel to fit the information given. Guardians perhaps? No, the common usage seemed to be 'parents' among most of the organic cultures. Ja'Far had killed one of his own, yet had found somone that seemed more suited for the role. The mention of her seemed to have brought a pleasant thought to the batarian. She was important, that much Phalanx could gather on the subject.

The smile seemed to falter for a second, like a painful memory just passed his mind's eye. He covered it up though and moved on. [color=olive][b]"Anyways, she was like a parent to me. Mentored me till the end."[/b][/color] The soldier then looked to Rykarn, his smile turning into an interested grin. [color=olive][b]"So, who was thine birthmother Ravanor? I hath heard of how... troublesome Krogan younglings are."[/b][/color] He had carried the child of a Krogan before and knew how much shenanigans they could get up to. And how powerful their jaws were.

The krogan shrugged heavily, his armour accentuating even the slightest of movement. [color=gray]"No idea. They keep the males separate from the females on Tuchanka. Never met my mother. She laid a bunch of eggs, two of them hatched; myself and my brother, Karnak. Our father raised us, kind of, and soon enough we were running around tackling varren and learning which end of a shotgun kills things before they kill you. We're kind of forced to grow up fast; I don't remember much about my early years, before my Rite of Passage. Krogan clans tend to raise the youth communally since a live childbirth is rare, you might say the clan was more of a paternal figure than my father. A lot of the adults taught me what I know, namely clan values and how to make the most of living in a radioactive wasteland. You become frugal when shit people on other worlds discard without a thought becomes a treasure you try to keep going for years."[/color] Rykarn explained, looking over. [color=gray]"Probably ain't what you're looking for from me, but honestly I don't even know if my mother is alive still. I'll never find out, partially because of the sex segregation but also that she probably wouldn't recognize me and I sure as shit wouldn't know who she was."[/color]

Sicaria looked up at the explanation of how Rykarn had been raised, slowly sipping on her beverage.  As she started to become more and more inebriated, her filter started to fall away, not that there was much of one to begin with, but still.  The conversation turned to the parents of everyone present, and it became her turn to share out.  She downed half her drink and looked up at everyone. [color=92278f]"My parents... my parents were fucking war heroes.  But that doesn't mean anything, no!  Not to a fucking shipping container!"[/color]  She grabbed her drink and finished it off, slamming the empty container on the bar hard enough to crack it.  For one reason or another, this silenced the establishment, during which the Turian glared at the bartender.  [color=92278f]"C'mon, keep 'em coming!  I'm not even drunk yet!"[/color]

[color=gray]"Maybe not, but you've definitely seen one."[/color] Rykarn said, gently pulling the glass away from Sicaria. [color=gray]"Might want to settle down on the drink. Bosses might not take kindly to you showing up tomorrow with a hangover."[/color]

Ja'Far nodded in agreement, gently stowing away his bottle. He had felt the buzz get stronger and stronger, the edges of his vision going blurry. He stood, stretched up and patted Sicaria on the back sympathetically. [color=olive][b]"We shalt have a chance to drink after the mission, on min wallet. For now, we need to rest comrade."[/b][/color] They stayed there for a while, talking amongst themselves about the mission and the sort. Small talk amongst killers, like how the new Avenger was better than the old one or how thermal clips affected wae in the galaxy. It was casual and generally friendly. As the numbers within the pub dwindled, the time reaching into the early morning, the two pairs decided to part ways. He paid off the tab and with one uneasy step, gestured for Phalanx to follow him. He waved the other two goodbye and leaned on the Geth next to him as they walked out of the door. He may have consumed too much alcohol but the Batarian didnt seem to care. Unfortunately, [i]trakh[/i] is a slight oreinogenic and over time, he collapsed in the middle of the London streets. Thankfully, he fell somewhat gracefully into his robotic friend's arms.

Phalanx managed to get a grip on the sluggish intoxicated batarian, the metal folds on its face briefly raising all the way outward in alert before relaxing as it studied the organic's heat signature. Scooping Ja'Far up into its arms in a comfortable bridal style, it continued its stride through the streets of London. It still didn't particuraly understand why organics seemed to enjoy injesting excessive amount of alcohol to the point where their senses are dulled and they are lulled into a slumber that can happen in the middle of street. However, they seemed to enjoy it and considering they were about to embark on a possibly long journey, a way to relax for them was suitable. Walking, it listened to the quiet hum of the wind, and the soft chatter of people. Whispers that it often heard, a little more so since it was this time accompanied by a batarian. Whispers and echoes of perhaps curiousity, and others distrust, and those to the point of loathing. Yet it would ignore them. Ignore the venomous words, or a bottle or two tossed against its head plate. There was little it could do other than to continue on, shielding the worn batarian from the occassional shards, and the cold wind.

It had to wonder what the others thought about a Geth in their presence. Surely they had seen several comrades speared and turned into husks? Creations to serve the Reapers, forced to fight family and friends. Phalanx had not really been apart of it, however it had seen it. It knew what the herectics did. They most likely did not trust the synthetic all to fully, and Phalanx could have a decent amount of understanding. Ja'Far, Sicaria, and even Rykarn showed the signs of most organics. Emotion. Feelings that drive them. At one point, Phalanx had no such restraint. No such thing to stop it to kill if it deemed in the logical choice. When it came to killing, organics seemed to have some sort of emotion for it. Hatred, revenge, joy... The Morning War... today when it watched its comrades reactions. It wished it had that kind of feeling back then. There was little point in thinking of such a thing, illogical. It didn't understand why its processing kept going back to the past. Perhaps there was something incorrect in its programming? Whatever it was, it wouldn't allow it to cause too much harm.

Finding a suitable hotel, Phalanx entered inside and rented a room. The hostess was a bit startled, but didn't argue since the Geth paid upfront.  Setting Ja'Far down in the bed, the synthetic studied for a moment, processing the situation before taking the covers and pulling them over the batarian. Tucking the worn man in as comfortable as Phalanx could manage. Turning away, the synthetic took a seat in one of the seats by the window. Turning its gaze to watch the batarian rest before looking out the window. It pondered for a moment if it should wander the streets, explore some more since it did not require sleep. Though it decided to make sure Ja'Far would be alright in the morning. Perhaps when he wakes offer some water. So it just sat there, staring out the window and to the London lights. After some time, Phalanx's body curled into a ball, suppose its own form of resting though it was still alert. Recharged some sort of its energy, but remain alert when it was time to head to the meeting point with the others.