Happy Hour

[boston_bruiser]

"What? Bullshit."

Guess who got The Napkin?

I don't see why you're so upset.

"Oh, gee, I don't know, maybe it's because of that MRE bullshit you pulled a couple days ago?"

Can't you take a joke?

"So long as it doesn't give me goddamn indigestion, yeah."

Look, this is the fastest way to pay off your tab.

"What tab? I paid all that shit off days ago. You'll

Comments

[pattersongs]

Of course not. Some things you never let out of your sight. Mordin approves.

Also, Mordin coughs lightly so as to attract the human's attention without being particularly intrusive.

[boston_bruiser]

It works quite well. Well enough to make Voodoo look up from the book, matter of fact.

"Hey. Uh..." He snaps his fingers, trying to jog his memory. "Mordin, isn't it? Mordin Solus?"

[pattersongs]

"Indeed. Research scientist on board human vessel Normandy," Mordin helpfully elaborates. "Believe your name was Voodoo, correct?"

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo nods. "Yeah, that'd be me." He gestures to the drink cabinet behind him. "Pick your poison yet, or you wanna talk shop?"

[pattersongs]

"Perfectly happy with asari mead," says Mordin. "Hard to get any decent bottles on board Normandy. Other crewmembers seem to intercept shipments first."

[boston_bruiser]

"Asari mead..." Voodoo mutters, dogearing the book, setting it down, and swiveling around to face the drink cabinet.

"Asari mead asari mead asari mead..."

After some rummaging, he comes up with a bottle of a vaguely alien-looking liquid. "Will this do?"

[pattersongs]

Mordin nods. "Should be satisfactory. Thank you, Voodoo." He glances at the sign. "Getting feeling tending bar not one of your usual job skills."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo grunts. "It's not," he says. "Don't know why Bar thought a SEAL'd make a good bartender. All I know about alcohol is how to drink it."

[pattersongs]

Mordin cocks his head curiously, and anyone even remotely experienced with salarian facial expressions would be able to see the gears falling into place as he works from that sentence. Since Voodoo's not familiar with salarian facial expressions, what he gets instead is, "Suspected military involvement when last met you. Didn't know which branch. Familiar with fair amount of human military history but too many possibilities to peg any one in particular with small amount of information."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo shrugs. "Well, now you know. Went through BUD/S in '91, spent five years with Team Four, and got my Combat Action Ribbon in Somalia. A Purple Heart, too, but that's almost a given in my work."

[pattersongs]

"Respectable service," says Mordin, nodding. "Congratulations on lasting this long. Assuming still on active duty?"

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo nods. "Yeah. Different unit, though. Officially, it's the Naval Special Warfare Development Group, but we just call it Team Six. 's the kind of outfit that goes through black highlighters almost as fast as ammunition."

[pattersongs]

Mordin's mouth twitches. "Familiar with the sort," he says. "Special Tasks Group. Used to work with them. Fascinating projects, none of which on list of subjects actually to be spoken of anywhere even remotely public."

[boston_bruiser]

"'nother secret squirrel, huh? Thought I was the only one around 'sides that Bauer guy."

He leans against the bar, careful not to knock anything over.

"You got any war stories? Don't have to be heavy on details."

[pattersongs]

"Specialty of my species. Salarians better at information, intelligence-gathering than head-on warfare." Mordin smiles. "Ever hear of krogan? Large, aggressive, reptilian, very popular as mercenaries?"

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo shakes his head. "Can't say I have. Why?"