Tentacle Headed Aliens

His mission wasn't necessarily a secret. Who was doing it, however, was. That was the nature of Black Ops. One could know the Systems Alliance was involved, but they couldn't know who was carrying out the orders. That was just how it had to be. Still, he favored her with a hint of a chuckle that was almost not picked up by his helmet. "Naw, I'm supposed to be here... I'm just, ya know, well..." He snorted and shook his head. "I'M not supposed to be here."

Standing up and looking about, he gave a faint shrug of his massive shoulders. "Hell, reckon I wouldn't be surprised if the CO done told the paramedics what they was walkin' intah. Or, tah be more precise, who they'd be walkin' intah. Namely a lone Asari. Tell them you did it, don't matter to me none. Blue Suns will probably still spout about an Alliance brute and a nimble Asari Commando anyway." There was a smirk to that voice. "I'll see ye there, 2200 sharp."

Late enough he could stand to get plastered, early enough the really bad bar crowd wouldn't be there; namely anyone who was related to the mercenaries they'd just hung out to dry. With a faint wave of an armored hand, he disappeared off the bridge and out of sight. It also gave her a few hours to get composed and not entirely broken.


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Sunrise Bar
Commercial 3.5e
2148 Hours Local


Anden had gone to the safehouse alright, and then stowed and secured his gear nice and safe and away from prying eyes. While he wasn't exactly one to blend in, it was much easier on a world like this. Folk walking around in armor - new or otherwise - didn't attract much attention. But what did generally attract attention was a fish out of water; that's exactly what Anden in a bar on an Asari planet was. He'd never been... to bars on Asari planets specifically, that is.

Seedy bars? Sure. On human colonies.

Not fancy bars in Commercial Districts on a world run by a feminine race of ferociously skilled diplomats. 

So there he was, propped up against a wall outside the bar with his arms folded across his chest. A faded old ballcap was pulled low on his brow, and a zip-up Systems Alliance hoodie was wrapped around his frame, zipped up to his sternum. Beyond that, he was wearing his fatigue pants and combat boots - half on duty clothes, half off. Beard too. Not your typical human soldier with their baby smooth cheeks and short hair. The tips of vaguely curled strands of coffee shaded hair poked out from under the cap, hooded eyes scanning the area for a particular Asari with violet eyes.

...and probably some bandages if she didn't stay in that leather.

Not that there was a shortage of Asari in leather on this world.

If one were to anticipate Asari dress based on the fantasies of teenage human males, what Anais chose to wear was probably at least #2 on the list of material for when parents weren't around. Giving her a slow once over with a raised brow and a smirk, the man gave a faint bit of a chuckle to go along with a wide, toothy grin. He felt fine wearing this, and frankly... "Well, the closet was a bit... understocked. I had to make do with what was provided." So basically his options at that point had been armor, full uniform, or half-uniform with the hoodie provided to keep you warm should the heat go out.

At least that's what he was assuming it was for.

"Naw." He drawls, chuckling at himself along with her before his gaze lifted to scan the street with a practiced sweep of his eyes. "Only thing they taught me how to do was be stiff and loose at the same time." Rolling a shoulder, he pushed himself from the wall and stuffed his hands into the pockets on the front of the hoodie. It tugged it down tight across his frame; he'd always been more comfortable in tighter bodywear. Ironic, really. "C'mon." He adds, turning and revealing that he'd kept his Executioner on his right hip, "Let's get yah some drinks to make up for that crap ya got grippin' yer torsah."

There was a half-scoff and a laugh, "Maybe we can compare scars sometime." Always leave it to a soldier to turn anything into a measuring contest. He'd win, probably. His stomach was basically a giant burn scar, and peppered along his left flank was the imprint of the shrapnel from a grenade that had come a little too close to taking his life. Between the bubbly Asari and the electronica, he couldn't get further out of what he was used to than if they'd dropped him into a Salarian hatchery.... or whatever passed for their spawning grounds.

Tidal estuary maybe? 

Following in after her and pulling his hat off as he did so, he clenched the bill together and stuffed it into his back pocket so that it hung out limply but was secure enough that it wouldn't fall. "Anden, Anais." He says with a hint of a smirk before settling himself onto the bar next to her and waiting for the tender to come around before getting himself some brandy. Turian brandy. Something he'd developed a taste for at some point he couldn't really imagine. Still, a thumb rose to brush across the strip of flesh between his lower lip and chin in thought as he looked over to her.

"I get tha impression yer usually here tah dance, but ya ain't tonight." That slightly protruding lower lip of his came from a bit too long on the chew, not that he'd done it in years, but it was something that stuck around for a bit. It definitely affected his pronunciation. "Take it, though, the rib ain't broken what since ye came here all bouncy and giggly." And, although he didn't realize it, his head was bobbing along a bit to the pounding of the music and his foot was following suit too.

Not his usual shtick, but he could appreciate it more than the hard nosed stuff usually favored on human colonies.

There was a knowing look to the mans features as he cast a glance towards the door at the word 'tourists.' "I gather yah know where all the interestin' types hide away at?" That was probably putting it lightly. If she frequented the bar as much as he thought she did... well, she'd know every interesting person, creature, drink and curiously communicable disease that came through here; which was probably quite a good deal, all told. But he couldn't suppress the grin at the mental image of her that cropped up in his mind.

Her, entirely wasted, gyrating out on the dance floor like a complete loon, but, more importantly, looking like she was actually having 'a few rounds' with the dance floor. Well, in fairness, his grin was more a reserved upward turning of his lips, but the point was the same.

The image was downright hilarious. It elicited a low chuckle. But she took her drink, downed it, and then did about what he expected she'd do - cough and look like a fool. Taking a quiet sip of his brandy, he wet his lips, gave a faint cough, and then took a much larger gulp before giving a satisfied noise from the back of his throat. "I'm going to assume by interesting you mean 'not at all what I expected, please help me.'"

Head pulling back so he could crane his neck to look at the massive area - well, massive to his eyes anyway - that comprised the dance floor, he couldn't help but shake his head. "Ya know, ya did the one thing no one has ever gotten me to do. Yah found a place with the sort of music that makes me want tah dance." And that was a scary thought.

"I didn't say 'bad,'" he begins, "I simply said 'not what you expected.'" With a grin, he tipped back the remainder of his drink and shook his head. "I get the feeling you'll be out there before long." He says, unzipping his hoodie and throwing it around her shoulders like the towel one would wipe themselves down with after a trip to the gym. She'd done the worst thing possible - she told an SNCO that he couldn't do something. Or, at least, heavily implied he couldn't.

That was a challenge, and challenges had to be won.

Not overcome.

Won.

Growing up, he'd had a friend who liked to DJ on the weekends. Typical teenager dream, really, especially when one went to university - be a DJ. Either way, he'd been huge into the electronic scene and, during one of Anden's shore leaves at home, spent a weekend teaching him how to do some new dance craze thing that was sweeping its way through the schools. Frankly, Anden wasn't one to be entirely good at moving smoothly enough to make dancing look good, but his friend had confided in him a secret.

Don't move to the music, move with it. He could still remember the words - 'Every movement to the beat. Ride it.' It was a mantra, likely picked up from some guy who'd made a life out of dancing and become a motivational speaker. It didn't matter. If it was true, it was true. But Anden had always been a practice learner anyway, and once he'd gotten down how to do it to one song, it was rinse and repeat until it could be adjusted as necessary.
A weekend wasn't enough to master it, but it was enough to be passable.

And so he went out to the dance floor and danced with the song, fitting in surprisingly well with the precentennials even if he wasn't as flexible or quite as smooth. Extranet eat your heart out; good, bad, or indifferent.

She wasn't the only one overly amused. The other Asari who'd managed to make it to the floor already were grinning from ear to ear. Probably wasn't often some military oaf slid his way out on the dancefloor to piston his forearms around in random directions that only made sense to one who wasn't concerned which way his limbs were moving and why. Combat boots, surprisingly effective at moving on a dance floor. Not really, but he was used to them enough by now to make it work.

And that's precisely what he did until the song ended. Grinning ear to ear to the point it was curling up his eyes, he made his way back to the Asari who looked about ready to pass out. Definitely a young one... by Asari standards. Whatever recording she'd been trying to do failed a little too hard. "Any more?" He asks as he resumes his seat, pulling his hoodie up off the ground from where she'd thrown it off in her fit of laughter. There wasn't more to say, really.

Another challenge? That was it. That's all he wanted to know, even as he ordered himself some more brandy.

There was a low chuckle as he stared into his glass, and careful fingers hefted it to tip the liquid back down his gullet before he shook his head. That was a thought, wasn't it? Visiting Illium just to shuffle with Asari that, were they human, would probably be in their mid-teens. Amusing, and, were he not used to the idea of their longevity by now, probably disturbing. Not anymore, though. Not anymore. Hell, he lived a fly's life comparatively. It happened so far as evolution was concerned.

Hell, Salarians were even worse than humans at staying alive into old age. Something about metabolisms? Something like that.

"Always did have a fancy for you Asari folk, just like most males in this galaxy. Sure they'd get a right kick outta me." He says, downing the glass again before looking over to her. "I'll drop ye a line next time I roll back through, yeah? Somethin' tells me you'd find a way to get me into more trouble. Not like that's a bad thing in the Terminus Systems."

"So how would the rest of yer night go? Come to the bar, get a drink? Go dance? Then what? Go harass the tourists as a gang of drunk, biotic amazonian women?"