[centre][h2][colour=008000][u]Gerad[/u][/colour][/h2][/centre]
[sub][centre][@Arthanus][@ShiningSector][/centre][/sub]

Gerad replied to Cyne’s queasy grumbling with what passed for a grin. [colour=008000]”We alive ain’t we?”[/colour]
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While Silas hosed the fungai off, he made his way to his assigned quarters. Once inside, he brought the local air mix/pressure up to something more Eshan-like before cracking the seals on his armour. With a yawn, some stretches and a bit of long overdue scratching, he then set about seeing to his post-mission maintenance.

Thanks to the built in nano-technology Militia gear was largely self-repairing, so long as it had sufficient reserves of base elements. [colour=008000][i]Firic26, Collium27 an’ Palanik46 all tad low. Down 70% on plasmas…No bad…[/i][/colour] He thought, taking stock of his armours expendables. Keying the info into a datapad, he tucked it into a pouch on his harness before getting ‘dressed’.

Unlike many species who had developed thick body hair during their evolution, garundin’s had never ‘lost’ theirs; as a result they, as a society, never developed clothing in the same way others had as there was no real need for it. They [i]had[/i] developed many varieties of harnesses and strappings which let them carry tools, goods and all the other various things an intelligent species may have use for.

The result was that compared to many, like humans, garundin’s walked around ‘naked’, not that they really had any taboos along those lines. Like the rest of his gear, Gerad’s harness was Militia issue, with various pouches for tools or objects, a hanger for his VLA should he need to carry it while not in armour and a chest mount for his breather; garundin’s [i]could[/i] function at the lower atmosphere pressures that other species preferred, but constantly feeling short of breath was never fun. Fixing the mask in place over his face, he double checked the self-repair on his armour before depressurizing his quarters and heading for debriefing.
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When Silas got to the bit about them getting a bit shorted in pay, Gerad was not what one would call [i]ecstatic[/i] but he did, grudgingly, understand, and Silas’ offer to cover munitions expenses was appreciated, the ionizing medium he used for his PRP cells could get a bit pricy.

With the briefing concluded, he hit the ship’s galley for a drink and some snacks; finding Silas at a table dealing cards, Gerad joined him. [colour=008000]”Say Boss,”[/colour] He said, sipping his drink through a ‘liquid induction port’ in his breather mask. [colour=008000]”Meant to say, we start doin’ more Hive job an’ I’m a want t’ renego’ m’ contract…ye don’ pay [i]near[/i] ‘nuff t’ deal wit’ bugs.”[/colour] He add with a chuckle as he looked at his cards. [colour=008000][i]Wha’ in d’ Ancestor’s Piss is this?[/i][/colour] He though irritably, looking at the terrible starting hand he’d been dealt. Fortunately, in this case, garundin’s didn’t have the most expressive features.