<div class="floatleft">(https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/802471378249973771/803254145678704710/6b8450ba5543baeeffa1add344fdfe95.jpg)</div><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">NAME:</span></strong>Arcus Aurelion (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=329085.msg15727099#msg15727099)<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>Spectre<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">WEARING:</span></strong>As pictured<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">LOCATION:</span></strong>Medical Bay<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">CONTENT:</span></strong>Sightseeing<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">TAG:</span></strong>Sam | Drack | Open<br/><br/><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><br/>He didn't expect an answer to his rhetorical question; he didn't expect the owner of said answer to stride forward and reveal herself as a human, either. "That would be wishful thinking, I'm afraid," he said lightly, tapping his claw against his elbow, watching the newcomer go through the medi-gel containers with efficiency. "But, we certainly seem to be stocked up on both supplies and personnel. Either the council is overcompensating, or they think they're sending us into a suicide mission." Arcus didn't enjoy his constant pessimism— it was something he was simply born with. Yet, he found it rude to be bombarding this small human with the possible demise of their whole crew, especially when she was the one that was called upon to explain the Malady to them. The Turian was willing to bet she knew more about the risks than he did.<br/><br/>"Hmm. Dr. Adams, right?" he asked, taking a moment to recall her name from Sparatus's words. "The Council must've believed in your prowess to send you on this mission. I have no doubt we're in good hands." This was his crass attempt at a compliment, at making polite conversation. Arcus was not a people person— his choice of career reflected that, yet he dealt with numerous people on various occasions, from high and mighty councillors to dirty thieves. Everyone appreciates a little nicety, even if it was stilted or unenthusiastic.<br/><br/>He was about to offer her help with the crates when thundering footsteps alerted him to another presence. A Krogan barged in looking like an angry elcor, and Arcus turned to him warily, already irked by his demand. Still, he made an effort— he opened his mouth to answer, but was left speechless with surprise when the Krogan rounded on him with a growl. "I doubt the ship doctor would get in trouble for arranging some boxes of medi-gel," he said, clicking his mandibles and looking between them bemusedly.<br/><br/>"You should ask her if you're looking for alcohol," he said, gesturing towards Dr. Adams with his chin. "But can I ask what you're planning to do with it?" Trust was important in missions like this; Arcus had had to find that out the hard way. They were a group of thirty-something people, floating along the dark vacuum of space in a region where they'd have no backup whatsoever— he felt justified in asking the intended purpose of the alcohol.