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Captain Hesperus
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(Part 1 of 2)
Beema looks deeply into Mario's eyes as if searching for something in their Italian-American depths. The excitable little Broo calms for a moment, moves forward and very lightly, very gently, brushes her soft cheek against his own in an affectionate manner. Then her breathing returns to its rapid pace as she gets out of Mario's way lest she further interfere with his preparations. She murmurs mostly to herself. "Mar-ee-yo say Iris is friend. If Beema let Iris be friend, Mar-eey-yo say I no regret." Beema glances at Cera and then at Shirley before smiling excitedly to Mario. "Okay!"
Then Beema scampers off of the table. On all fours, she slowly and non-threateningly approaches Iris, all the while gazing up at the Scrath. Iris, in turn, notes the Broo's approach and becomes still to the point of appearing statue-like. When a Scrath is still, it is like they have cloaked their very souls. Such is their stillness that they appear to be devoid of threat, perhaps devoid of life. It must be an excellent way to avoid attention in the wild.
Beema scratches at her leathers, adjusts her scabbard-covered short sword, and plops down in front of Iris. For a short time, they simply seem to look at each other. And for the two of these otherworldly creatures from extremely different circumstances and backgrounds, that appears to be enough for them.
Iris returns to her conversation with Ylva and Beema hops up on a table and appears to attempt to discover the usage of the human tool known as... tongs.
Mario can feel someone's gaze upon him. It is Shirley. Her Californian-blue eyes follow him. She looks like a kid at the edge of a pool who is all ready to jump in, but can't for some reason or another. Shirley seems to enjoy Mario just being Mario.
Iris briefly shakes her head from side to side. "Apologies are unrequired. This form of communication is non-standard for humankind whereas we Scrath emerge from our creches learning it. Vocal speech is beyond our means though our ocular forms of receiving your mouth-words function quite well. We can hear and understand, but not speak.
Iris blinks twice and slowly, almost soundlessly moves herself closer to a table as if she is attempting to be out of everyone's way. "This One is curious if any place on your homeworld is safe for this highly-sought-after vessel and its unusual crew. As long as there are Zentraedi, there is a threat to Scrath, to Ura-Meltrandi, and to humanity. This One cannot recommend complacency. Constant vigilance is required for survival."
Iris holds her head up high like a human might if they were feeling pride. "Zentraedi!" she answers. "Quality protein in large amounts are required for continued productivity and activity, especially during combat. Scrath hunt, prepare, consume, digest, and keep protein storages of ingested enemies in order to ensure prolonged health and aforementioned vigilance. While nearly any source of living protein - specifically meat - can be ingested and kept, properly-maintained Zentraedi are our favorite source, especially Zeki-Zentraedi! To destroy our foes is one matter; to use the bodies of our enemies to further our causes is seen as a continued victory, but perhaps best of all, Zeki-Zentraedi only consume the highest-quality protein salves! Devouring them therefore has positive results not only on Scrath survivability, but also morale! Is this not melodious?" This last question appears to be rhetorical as it is heartfelt.
"Do not worry," Cera tells Ylva with a red-eyed grin. "Scrath rarely devour humans. Your species tends to consume fuels that are inefficient and often of low quality. In other words, enemy humans are 'junk food' to Scrath - to be devoured only as a last resort."
Cera continues to set the tables as she considers this line of thinking. "Leader Mack is my superior. You must direct your query to her."
Iris replies, "This One does not mind if Leader Mack's permission is granted!"
To which Shirley turns about as if just now coming into the conversation. She looks at the container of fluid then to Ylva. She waves. "C'mon over! Let's see how it takes on coffee stains together!" Shirley raises one hand to get Sam's attention when the blast doors to the Mess Hall open. A Samantha unit in red colored armor enters the room with a huge jacket that can only belong to Hercules. As the door closes behind her, the Sam unit moves to an out-of-the-way table and lays the jacket down flat.
"That's thinking ahead! Thanks, Samantha!"
The robot puts one hand to where her lips would be if her helmet possessed lips and "blows Shirley a kiss." "Ain't no thang, sugar plum! Ah reckon y'all would wanna test out that there theory of y'alls, so here we are, rarin' ta go!"
"'Sugar plum?'" Shirley hears this and with an expression of amusement slowly turns to Elinor as she takes out the container and walks toward the offered jacket. "Elinor, do you really talk like that in Georgia?"
(Part 1 of 2)
"Mass Effect - Main Title Screen (1 Hour of Music)" by Jack Wall
Mario places a comforting hand on Beema's shoulder and gives a slight squeeze. "Iris is a ally, friend, and a member of the team. She has helped us all out on several occasions, and has earned her right to be called a Wild Card. Let her be a friend to you, too, and you won't regret it."
Beema looks deeply into Mario's eyes as if searching for something in their Italian-American depths. The excitable little Broo calms for a moment, moves forward and very lightly, very gently, brushes her soft cheek against his own in an affectionate manner. Then her breathing returns to its rapid pace as she gets out of Mario's way lest she further interfere with his preparations. She murmurs mostly to herself. "Mar-ee-yo say Iris is friend. If Beema let Iris be friend, Mar-eey-yo say I no regret." Beema glances at Cera and then at Shirley before smiling excitedly to Mario. "Okay!"
Then Beema scampers off of the table. On all fours, she slowly and non-threateningly approaches Iris, all the while gazing up at the Scrath. Iris, in turn, notes the Broo's approach and becomes still to the point of appearing statue-like. When a Scrath is still, it is like they have cloaked their very souls. Such is their stillness that they appear to be devoid of threat, perhaps devoid of life. It must be an excellent way to avoid attention in the wild.
Beema scratches at her leathers, adjusts her scabbard-covered short sword, and plops down in front of Iris. For a short time, they simply seem to look at each other. And for the two of these otherworldly creatures from extremely different circumstances and backgrounds, that appears to be enough for them.
Iris returns to her conversation with Ylva and Beema hops up on a table and appears to attempt to discover the usage of the human tool known as... tongs.
* * *
Looking around at the bustling mess hall with all of the people and Sams in it (he was already starting to think of Beema's race as 'people', not a bunch of aliens), Mario was starting to get a feeling of contentment inside. This is a place and a team that I can really see myself being a part of for the long term. I like being here. He then grabs a large pot of boiling water and heads for a sink to drain the noodles. "Watch out! Hot stuff coming through! And the water will scald you, too, if you aren't careful!"
He offers up a grin as he works, feeling good about his newly found life onboard the Broadsword.
Mario can feel someone's gaze upon him. It is Shirley. Her Californian-blue eyes follow him. She looks like a kid at the edge of a pool who is all ready to jump in, but can't for some reason or another. Shirley seems to enjoy Mario just being Mario.
* * *
"Hi there." If there's a right and polite way to start a mental conversation, that's probably not it. "Iris. Sorry, I'm not... quite used to this kind of speech." She speaks the first part, tries to 'think' the second, and probably does a great job of making a fool of herself. "We... weren't doing any fighting, back then. Only looked at things that sunk to the ground from the war up in the sky. Wreckages, mostly. As far as we knew, then, there's nothing down there that'd be a reason to worry too much. I mean, part of why the Broadsword took a bath is because it's safe for us, at least for now, right?"
Iris briefly shakes her head from side to side. "Apologies are unrequired. This form of communication is non-standard for humankind whereas we Scrath emerge from our creches learning it. Vocal speech is beyond our means though our ocular forms of receiving your mouth-words function quite well. We can hear and understand, but not speak.
Iris blinks twice and slowly, almost soundlessly moves herself closer to a table as if she is attempting to be out of everyone's way. "This One is curious if any place on your homeworld is safe for this highly-sought-after vessel and its unusual crew. As long as there are Zentraedi, there is a threat to Scrath, to Ura-Meltrandi, and to humanity. This One cannot recommend complacency. Constant vigilance is required for survival."
"So it should be fine, at least for now. No need to worry. But thanks for asking. And thank you for helping." Be it with the war, or with coffee stains. "So, what do Scrath actually eat, Iris?
Iris holds her head up high like a human might if they were feeling pride. "Zentraedi!" she answers. "Quality protein in large amounts are required for continued productivity and activity, especially during combat. Scrath hunt, prepare, consume, digest, and keep protein storages of ingested enemies in order to ensure prolonged health and aforementioned vigilance. While nearly any source of living protein - specifically meat - can be ingested and kept, properly-maintained Zentraedi are our favorite source, especially Zeki-Zentraedi! To destroy our foes is one matter; to use the bodies of our enemies to further our causes is seen as a continued victory, but perhaps best of all, Zeki-Zentraedi only consume the highest-quality protein salves! Devouring them therefore has positive results not only on Scrath survivability, but also morale! Is this not melodious?" This last question appears to be rhetorical as it is heartfelt.
"Do not worry," Cera tells Ylva with a red-eyed grin. "Scrath rarely devour humans. Your species tends to consume fuels that are inefficient and often of low quality. In other words, enemy humans are 'junk food' to Scrath - to be devoured only as a last resort."
And... just out of curiosity... would you mind if I tag along when you try to use that, Lieute-... Shirley?" She sheepishly points out the fluid. "I... might have an interest in substances that do wondrous things. If that's alright, that is." Her last comment is directed at both Cera and Iris; who knows whether there are social conventions where Scrath spit is involved... but organic laundry detergents? Come on, one doesn't need to have spent years in labs to get excited by that, right? Right?
Cera continues to set the tables as she considers this line of thinking. "Leader Mack is my superior. You must direct your query to her."
Iris replies, "This One does not mind if Leader Mack's permission is granted!"
To which Shirley turns about as if just now coming into the conversation. She looks at the container of fluid then to Ylva. She waves. "C'mon over! Let's see how it takes on coffee stains together!" Shirley raises one hand to get Sam's attention when the blast doors to the Mess Hall open. A Samantha unit in red colored armor enters the room with a huge jacket that can only belong to Hercules. As the door closes behind her, the Sam unit moves to an out-of-the-way table and lays the jacket down flat.
"That's thinking ahead! Thanks, Samantha!"
The robot puts one hand to where her lips would be if her helmet possessed lips and "blows Shirley a kiss." "Ain't no thang, sugar plum! Ah reckon y'all would wanna test out that there theory of y'alls, so here we are, rarin' ta go!"
"'Sugar plum?'" Shirley hears this and with an expression of amusement slowly turns to Elinor as she takes out the container and walks toward the offered jacket. "Elinor, do you really talk like that in Georgia?"