First Entry

[just_wrex]

(OOM: A change of scenery can be nice. Of course, it can also lead to a... Deeper change of scenery.)

The door opens and a massive bipedal... Being walks into Milliways, stopping short as the door slams shut behind him. Okay, this is -not- the garage deck of the Normandy. Faster than one would expect from a being that must weigh well over a ton in

Comments

[pattersongs]

!

Wrex, there's a startled-looking older salarian at a nearby table, and he's just- somewhat reluctantly- gotten up to see what's going on.

[pattersongs]

There's visible relief in Mordin's posture as Wrex lowers the gun, but his reedy voice stays about the same. "Uncertain. Portals tend to form only in presence of certain individuals. No discernible pattern as to common factors other than vast majority are human. Initial portal opens, person comes through, first drink is free, basic rules usually explained on first visit, person eventually returns home. After that, return sometimes happens by accident. Portals more likely to form when prior visitor intent on trying to reach the place."

[just_wrex]

Wrex manages to filter most of Mordin's chatter, filing away the tidbits of new information.

"I suppose you do know what those basic rules are."

[pattersongs]

Mordin nods. "No violence in the bar. Fistfights, consensual duels allowed so long as they take place outside." He gestures towards the back door. "No pursuing fugitives or feuds from home. No public displays of mating or related behaviors. Apparently this some kind of problem for humans."

[just_wrex]

No violence, no outside business. Fair enough, he has heard similar rules in mercenary dives all across the Galaxy. Then, of course, comes Rule three and Wrex actually breaks into bitter, growling laughter.

"Of course, of course. Because this place looks like it will be brimming with opportunities for Krogan mating."

[pattersongs]

"You asked for rules. Rules apply to all patrons. Lack of opportunity to violate them not excuse for not knowing them." Mordin shrugs. "Beyond that, suggest use of territory outside for firearm and combat practice. Don't think indoor range exists. Bar unit is voice-activated, will issue most kinds of food, drink, other items, but not weapons or ammunition beyond small amounts for target practice."

[just_wrex]

Wrex takes a long, slow look around the bar as Mordin explains.

"Sounds better than what the Normandy's cook can put together. And the Alliance don't allow bars insode their ships, apparently."

Not that they would have Ryncol if they did.

[pattersongs]

Mordin's experience with the Normandy's cook has been with Mess Sergeant Rupert Gardner. Of 'Hey, Rupert, tastes like you put in more food and less ass' fame.

"Inclined to concur. Can't think of many vessels likely to have anything similar to this sort of selection."

[just_wrex]

"I've traveled on some who had really impressive bars. Not military, of course." Bodyguard work is boring, but it has some small compensations, when you are charged with protecting the rich and famous.

[pattersongs]

Mordin inclines his head in reply; civilian vessels would have a larger selection. "Then this should be familiar," he says, indicating the bar. "Any other questions?"

[just_wrex]

Wrex gives Mordin a -very- pointed look. The kind most people in the galaxy wouldn't even suspect a Krogan would be able to give.

"Lots of them. None that I think you could answer." Or would.

[pattersongs]

"Fair enough," says Mordin, largely unperturbed. "Shall I leave you to it, then?"

[just_wrex]

Wrex nods, focusing those dark red eyes on Mordin before turning towards the Bar.

"I'll keep an eye out for you." Let the Salarian interpret that any way he wants to.

"I'm Urdnot Wrex, by the way."

[pattersongs]

"Mordin Solus," says Mordin. "Will see you around."