[i]Crack![/i]

The smell of hot energy followed the ruckus, and Mark looked over his shoulder to the other end of the cargo bay where Tanya had been working. He thought about calling out to see if she was still breathing, but saw her rise and chug some booze moments later. He turned back to what he was doing and mumbled to himself, "eh, she'll be fine. A few third degree burns never hurt anybody."

He'd finished setting up his cot in a shipping container just minutes ago without even bothering to grab a pillow. A bottle was all the comfort he needed, though his flask was starting to sound a bit hollow now that he thought about it. Hopefully they'd make port soon. Even his favorite gun was missing, (his other favorite gun anyway, the Phalanx was resting comfortably back on his thigh,) and going back to Omega would like be too steep of a request for just a rifle. He'd just have to buy another, and use one of Nova's loaners until then. Which is exactly what he was looking for now.

With a sigh he popped open another set of lockers. It was probably too much to hope that they'd have a- Mark's brows raised with mild surprise and an honest to god grin broke out on his face as his eyes locked onto the distinctive beige profile of a Mattock sitting between an Avenger and a Katana shotgun.

[i]Come to papa...[/i] Mark thought as he grabbed the rifle. He wouldn't be caught dead saying that aloud. He sighted down its length with practiced ease, the rifle resting perpendicular to his squared shoulders. He let it fall and began to inspect the weapon lovingly, recalibrating the systems that had deteriorated from lack of use. There weren't many people these days who would pick a semi automatic over anything else, figuring volume of fire was better than accuracy probably. Nothing beat a quick double tap to the head in his opinion. And no one made power house rifles like the humans either... Well, except for the krogans. Too bad most krogan gear looked about as ugly as the krogans themselves. The Mattock was powerful and stylish.

He slipped the rifle onto the mag lock on his back and shut the locker. Hearing more clangs amidst the piss poor imitation of human metal from Tanya's end of the cargo bay, he figured he'd see what the commotion was about. Walking over, he looked over the variety of parts strewn about which seemed to consist mostly of omni tool hardware. He picked up a piece that was sitting on a chest high crate while the woman wasn't looking and inspected it, not gleaning much. He wasn't very technologically inclined unless it came to guns.

"Avoided blowing yourself up again I see," he started. "So, where were you stationed?"
Mark was certain his assumption of her military background was correct, but he was interested in just what kind of shit she'd been through. Not all marines saw combat after all, maybe she just talked like one.