He looked up as the commander arrived, half-prepared for a chewing out. It was a surprise when he didn't, when she seemed more amused than put out. He smirked crookedly at her and shrugged, chewing the rest of the bite he'd taken and swallowing. "Yeah, well, so long as I didn't actually do any other kind of moves, I think I can live with knowing I spent two hours flailing like an idiot in front of a load of shitfaced strangers." The way she bit her lip made things clench low in his belly, things that should not clench, especially for a C/O and especially when dealing with a hangover.<br/><br/>He was about to ask where Talyet's room was, and whether or not the commander had been around to witness his... display... when a thunderous voice gently interrupted. Visually, the krogan was nothing unusual, of average height for the people, though the smooth plate on his head did raise some questions. Cole thought that the krogan spent most of their time headbutting one another and establishing dominance, but this one looked like he'd hardly ever headbutted anything, let alone another 150-kilo dinosaur man.<br/><br/>He took another bite of his biscuit as Pol fixed one green eye on him, and--somewhat nervously, it seemed--asked after the aesthetics of the ship. His experience with krogan was limited, but the one time he'd seen them they had reminded him somewhat of a compact tyrannosaurus. Vicious, powerful, brutal giants who could destroy as readily as they could breathe. Pol reminded him rather forcefully of a parakeet. He swallowed and glanced at Reese, then nodded to Pol. "No, she's a beautiful ship. I'm proud to be part of her crew. Having pride in the ship is important, I mean... I'd much rather ship out in a beautiful freighter than some cobbled-together cruiser."<br/><br/>Cold could only hope he was saying the right thing, the nuances of krogan expression utterly alien to him. His wonderings were cut short by a rude snort that came from the elevator, followed by a low expletive as the quarian pilot realized she'd blown spit all over the inside of her visor. She marched past the table to the kitchen without hardly a glance at any of them and started to make herself some food. A pip attached to the form-hugging ass part of her suit broadcasted the message "LOOK AND DIE" in Basic.<br/><br/>"Don't let that big crybaby intimidate you into loving the ship," she said glibly a moment later. "If he REALLY loved her, he would stop sending her pointless exerpts of 'krogan' poetry that is really just repurposed asari war chants. And moreover, what would you even know about cobbled-together?"<br/><br/>"Well, nothing, I guess--"<br/><br/>"Let me tell you. The Flotilla, may the ancestors forever piss in their envirosuits, has a few 'cobbled-together' cruisers. Whole hulls, kept together by only a few welds and half-inch plates of durasteel! And they think it is enough! Three or four ships taken apart for scrap and then put together with the bits that work, THAT is cobbled together, human, in the most extreme sense of the word--oh, Faustus,<i>det kazuat fre'eg!</i>He ate the last of my blueberries! Commander!"