It was his turn. Straight and true, Asad stepped forward, giving the guards a stern look through his visor. One short human, built like an ox but undoubtedly slow to move. The tactical overlay he had built into his helmet automatically broadcast an analysis of the man, pinpointing possible weak spots, and highlighting the way he moved, in an effort to give the quarian a better chance. It was a good thing they presumably wouldn't have ended up fighting - Asad had no doubts that the burly man could have taken him at any distance other than what the quarian was comfortable with. The high-powered weapon across the human's back wasn't helping either - a suit puncture would have been likely. Unpleasant, something to be avoided. The turian was like all of his race - tall and stern-looking, his face adorned with tribal markings and his armour built to withstand a blast. Asad didn't like fighting turians - more than most other races, they tended to know exactly what they were doing, and he'd had more than a handful of close calls with them over his somewhat short career. It was no surprise that they tended to be high-ranking within these kinds of organisations - they were built to last, they were highly-trained and highly-disciplined, and they knew exactly how to kill a young quarian with a vulnerability to exposure.<br/><br/>"Name?" The human asked, giving Asad a sneer that bridged hostility and disgust. Asad's first guess was that the human was instinctively disapproving of his presence. Quarians were unpopular, that much he knew - it might not exactly have been an undeserved popularity, but it was one that he'd had to learn to avoid bridling at. In addition to the simple disdain the man was showing, Asad detected in the sneer and in his tone an undercurrent of amusement, almost as if the man was privately delighted that he'd be placing a quarian in harm's way. Asad drummed a rhythm on his hip with his fingertips, trying once more to not take offence at the implied scorn. He'd either prove himself and win further disdain for knowing his stuff, or he'd die trying and drag someone else down with him - he privately hoped that his last enemy would be as contemptible as this ruffian.<br/><br/>"Asad'Arai vas Adeyyei nar Shadha." He recited precisely, his back straight and his hands at his sides as he looked from the human to the turian. He repeated it again more slowly when the human gave him a peeved look. "Call me Asad. Ay ess ay dee." He relented, trying not to let irritation show in his voice. His accent wasn't<i>that</i>strong . . . either the human was being deliberately obstructive - which was to be expected - or his name was too elaborate - which was also a possibility.<br/><br/>"What can we do for you?" The human asked snidely, provoking another flare of annoyance in the quarian.<br/><br/>"Oh, I don't know. An armed man shows up, carrying himself with confidence and awareness, openly displaying his weaponry whilst standing in a crowd of other armed men doing exactly the same. This crows is waiting to enlist as private mercenaries, the obvious intention being that we want blood, heat-sinks, and enough money to buy a private apartment in the Citadel." Asad replied in clipped tones, his voice showing faint hints of irritation. "I think it goes without saying that I<i>obviously</i>want you to pose for me as I sculpt you out of rose quartz." He added with audible disdain, provoking a glare from the human and a chuckle from the turian.<br/><br/>"The sarcasm has been noted." The turian said in his odd flanged voice. "And you<i>seem</i>to be a little more prepared than a street-punk with a hand-cannon. Try not to catch a cold." He continued, the last bit bearing a little bit of a vocal sneer as he stood aside, allowing Asad entry into the warehouse. It was about bloody time. The quarian nodded curtly, giving the human another sharp look as he stalked in. Finally - assuming he didn't get shot for being born into the 'wrong' race, it was time to regain some of the action and excitement he'd fallen in love with. Alongside the adrenaline rush, credits. He'd developed a fondness for the finer things in life - Ilium chardonnay, Abraxis truffles, huge steaks hewn from the corpses of thresher maws and exported across the galaxy . . . Asad had avoided softness and complacency through continuing action and exercise, and now he was finally being given another chance to return to that privileged lifestyle through the windfall that accompanied shooting things in this part of the galaxy.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>