“Oh, so we talkin’ about me.” Galea gives him a hooded, sideways glance, and knocks back her glass. “Aren’t you adorable.”

“I’m trying.” He laughs. Waves away the shroud-like smoke. The batarian in the corner is rolling some loose greens in a broad, leathery leaf. His eyes seem glazed over, and so do his girlfriend’s.

“Hmph. Nothing much to say. You’re the one running with Saren. You should go dig up his shit.”

Nihlus ignores the mental image. “Yeah, well, I’m also the one that can get spaced.”

She plants the glass on the earthen counter, gesturing for a refill. The barman gives a small nod, wiping his forehead with a purple rag.

“Heh, you’re right.” She bites her lower lip. “I guess I’ve been a soldier all my life. My ma’s the CO of the house and what she says, goes. Most’f that was ‘shut up,’ ‘scoot,’ y’know. Simple stuff. Not much harder, nowadays.”

“Uh-huh.” He drains his glass as well.

“Aren’t turians into that?”

“Do I look like I have a stick up my ass?”

She seems to withhold something at the last second. “Bad turian, eh.”

“Fuck yeah.” He winks; accidentally, with both eyes. Dammit.

He turns around and asks for the strongest ryncol they have.

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