"Food?" Esone perked up, still rubbing the back of his head. That turian had one hell of a grip.<br/><span style="color: #000000">Didn't you fill up for a good month with that massacre at the Collector Base?</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Just because I don't need to eat doesn't mean that I don't appreciate good food. Have you seen that damn food-porn the Commander keeps spamming me with?</span><br/><br/>The Midway was equipped with a significantly larger kitchen than the Cerberus Normandy, one with enough space for a full complement of mess-offices rather than one solitary chef. The amount of space also accounted for the extra facilities needed to cater to the turian diet. A massive deep-freeze stood on each side of the floor, and the glimpse of their contents was enough to set the Lieutenant drooling. Cakes, pies, adobo, vast vats of Cold Stone ice-cream. Esone began to shamble towards the freezer like a starved zombie.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000">I expected stupid behavior from you, but it seems that you've infected the Commander.</span><br/>Esone looked around at Del Pilar, surprised to note an identical expression of hunger-lust on the Commander's face. Drawn back to reality, the Lieutenant quickly collared John and retreated with some remorse from the kitchen area.<br/><br/>"Come on Commander. We'll eat the ship out entirely before we even leave if we linger here. Let's look at the lingerie! Unless you were lying about that..."<br/>Esone dragged the struggling marine in the direction of the medbay, Bau stifling poorly-contained laughter as he and 042 followed.