Transferring from a Turian colony to the Citadel was a trip filled with baffling directions, depressed refugees, curious sights and sounds, a variety of odd encounters and watchful C-Sec, but the conclusion to this whole trek couldn't even match up to the feelings that Nalryn felt before.

Mass confusion was all that was left of her feelings, with furrowed brows and looking down at her datapad again while the hustle and bustle of the barracks filled the atmosphere. Her eyes curiously scanned the datapad's information again while strangers walked past her, some in a hurry and others relaxed, the noise of which drowned out by her focus and thought, concentrating on the information. The confusion kept rising up in her to the point of wanting to ask anyone the simple question of;

[i]Why in the spirits is she the cook?[/i]

Even the frigate's unique SSV Normandy-like shape didn't stand out to her, the impact of such a elegantly built vessel being removed as she kept looking at the datapad. Her eyes would've remained locked to the orange glow of her device if not for a unfortunate shoulder bump into another crew member, whom which she turned on her heels in a quick act of reflex, getting ready to bark at them much like how a drill sergeant would shout at incompetent recruits- but they simply kept walking. Her confusion now was replaced by a gradual rise of anger and frustration, to which to she quickly submitted to, taking off her bag, unzipping it, shoving in the datapad and then zipping it back up so swiftly and filled with anger that the zipper itself could've been pulled off.

Well, if someone had made a severe mistake in placing her on the roster as some sort of food-managing meal-making coward, she would fix that faster then the thrust of FTL travel itself! Nalryn thought to herself while hastily stomping off with much purpose and rage, hoping to find SOMEONE who could explain this entire mishap, all while the anger stayed with such conviction it was as if she was about to emit steam out of sheer rage. Who would have to deal with her next? Whoever had the misfortune of falling into her line of sight.