Shu — Roleplayer Guild

Herman had been watching the front door with little distraction aside from the young human waitress who had approached him moments before asking if he needed anything else. He had considered requesting another a refill on his water but then decided against it, politely waving her away. Herman had also taken a few moments to eye the other patrons of the cafe. In a booth nearby were a pair of asari gossiping about work as they ate, totally oblivious to their surroundings. A human couple sat several tables away from Herman closer to the bar and likewise were absorbed in their meal and conversation. A group of salarians had filled up two booths near the front door, their uniforms marked with the logo and name of a construction firm. Most likely they were workers that had been contracted for repairs in the ward and were staying at the motel. 

Herman doubted any of who he saw were tails that were following him on someone’s order. Those he had previously worked for weren’t the type to hire aliens for any reason and the sole human couple nearby seemed unsuspicious enough to Herman. While this did not totally relax him it took enough edge off to allow him to think more clearly as well as be able to functionally communicate when the Alliance contact he was supposed to meet arrived.

When a tall, dark-haired human man entered the cafe the the former doctor believed this was who he was awaiting. The man walked with the slight cocky assertiveness that most military types had and made his way straight through the cafe towards the aged Herman. Herman sat still arms folded just in front of his empty plate as the man took a seat, ignoring the casual touching of his empty cup by the new arrival. 

With a slight exhale Herman looked the man dead in the eyes, “A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.” This was the choice phrase that was meant for the Alliance operative to assure them of the identity of the former doctor, Herman of course would expect the assigned return phrase before becoming outright direct in regards to details. He smiled, wrinkles creasing the corners of his mouth and eyes as he absently scratched away at the top of the table, “That would be James Joyce,” he said, “the poet and novelist, writer of Ulysses.” 

Herman forced his smile a little wider, the mellow cafe lighting highlighting the thin gray stubble on his cheeks and chin, “Are you familiar with him?” Herman did his best to keep his voice level. While he knew it was impossible to conceal the entirety of his anxiety he had no intention of painting the image he was scared out of his wits. A cowardly and perturbed man was easy to be dictated to and bullied and Herman had no doubts that the operative or his superiors would try to take advantage of this. Especially considering how Herman was technically turning himself in for partaking in research both sorely unethical and illegal, the information and strings he had attached the only vantage point he had.
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