<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/cc/d3/eb/ccd3eb851ec1e8945ab9e1e139a25276.jpg)</div><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">NAME:</span></strong>Florinthia 'Flo' Legiticus (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=329085.msg15779216#msg15779216)<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">RACE:</span></strong>Turian<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">OCCUPATION:</span></strong>Biotic Weapon and Requisition Officer<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">DATE:</span></strong>December 21st, 2174 CE<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">WEARING: </span></strong>Basic Military Uniform, Hood Down.<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">LOCATION:</span></strong>Middle Deck | Galley<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">CONTENT:</span></strong>Chatting, Stomping Off.<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">TAG:</span></strong>Drack<br/><br/><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><br/>While she was sure it wasn't intentional, something about Drack's attitude was just...rubbing Flo the wrong way. Perhaps it was the way he constantly revised himself. Perhaps it was the way he seemed to lord his age over her, like it made him better than her in any conceivable way. Perhaps it was just a quirk of her lifestyle of being told by old men what to do, and how to act, and which way she should think. Maybe it was just her own stubborn nature, but she grabbed the drink as it was slid over to her and downed it. The entire shot gone, Flo stood up, pushing the stool out behind her.<br/><br/>“<strong>Know what? I'm good.</strong>” She said, feeling a pulse of frustration manifest in her own biotic powers coating her feet. A subconscious desire not to be here anymore, like she might throw herself away from the situation. “<strong>I'm tryin' to do something nice, but fuck it. You can take your secrets, you can take your control over me, old man, and you can shove it.</strong>” Flo baulked in annoyance, mandibles flaring as she pushed past the Krogan. Alcohol, stress, and her own hang-ups were catching up with the Turian, who felt infinitely more and more like the Krogan wasn't trying to help her vent, and was just trying to put himself at the centre of the conversation. She wanted to be alone? He interjected.  She wanted to brush off his overfriendliness with some light conversation? He starts pulling out the hypothetical baby photos, and gushes about his family. She tried to guilt him into leaving? He starts trying to act like her damn shrink! The one time she tried to be open and friendly and honest? The first thing he did was try to take control of it. Just like he would...<br/><br/>“<strong>I'm going to my quarters. Email me if your still gets enough people on board, and I'll reconsider it.</strong>” She said, focusing on business to curtail the many,<em>many</em>bitchy things she could say. “<strong>Try to do something nice, reconnect with someone, make fucking casual conversation but noooo~ only him whose allowed to over-fucking-share.</strong>” She half-grumbled, half-hissed to herself as she stomped towards the doorway. When she got to the door of the mess hall itself she flung it open, slamming it behind her with the dramatic zeal of a true diva.