<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/236x/4d/e4/db/4de4db0d36edeae01e2a43ba666d29aa--deus-ex-mankind-divided-jensen.jpg)</div><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">NAME:</span></strong>Jacob "Sink" Sinclair (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=329085.msg15729522#msg15729522)<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">RACE:</span></strong>Human<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">OCCUPATION:</span></strong>Chief Engineer<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">WEARING:</span></strong>Dark Green overalls with oil stains.<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">LOCATION:</span></strong>Galley<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">CONTENT:</span></strong>In for a snack<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">TAG:</span></strong>Jay, Namir, Drack, Max<br/><br/><strong></strong><br/><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><br/><strong>"Never been partial to buttermilk and apple. But add some lime juice to your rum and coke, and you'll get a traditional Cuba Libre."</strong>With those words he brings his glass to the lips and sips that, resulting in a sigh of relief. "This is the stuff." Eyes raising up to observe the fellows gathered around the table.<strong>"I can't wait for the fun part, Pilot.... That means, you're the Jay Vitoris, or somesuch, right?"</strong>Sentence splitting in the middle as he gets the spark of memory from the crew roster, the corner of his eye betraying a new incomer on the counter. Leading to him raising his glass in greeting towards the white haired girl.<br/><br/><strong>"Hey Max, Armory to your satisfaction? We still have time and supplies to make adjustments. Just hit me up on the comms if you need tools or manpower."</strong>Acknowledging the new armory officer shortly, as he seemed to have gotten the military 'pure business' vibe from this gal before, and he wasn't going to start the hazing just yet. Then something bigger ends up on Sink's radar.<br/><br/>Long before he sees, nor hears, the friendly neighbourhood krogan arriving, Jacob could spot the stench of the ryncol creep its sinister tendrils into the room. Leading to the engineer turning to glance at the arriving krogan, just in time for the question, formulating a quick response.<strong>"You, probably, but we don't have a glass big enough for that. Come, take a seat."</strong>Saying that while scooting over closer to Namir, to make way for the krogan to get to the lineup opposite the temporary asari bartender, watching the krogan's ryncol<sup>TM</sup>scented face get closer, and closer. And then it hit him -<span class="bbc_u">Literally.</span>Something cracks.<br/><br/>The Krogan's headbutt, as lowpowered as is it was, is enough to send an unexpecting engineer to sway back, both from dodge reflex and actual impact. Two momentums complimenting each other, to become movement fast enough to then send the back of his head to pummel straight towards Namir's face. And then, due the obstacle behind loosing his balance, sending him corralling down on to the deck, nose bleeding from the krogan impact. His head was notably bigger than Jacobs, and it managed to hit with a extrusion on the human's soft wind-breaker. And to add insult to injury, the glass of rum-coke comes tumbling down, splashing its contents all over his groin and legs. You know, the most embarrassing region.<br/><br/>Jacob, stunned for a moment, blinks, blood running from his nose, he lifts his attention to Drack.<strong>"Damn you str- Ack!"</strong>His eyes closing, and hand raising up to it.<strong>"Jeepers. Hasn't hurt this bad since Shanxi."</strong>The other hand searching blindly for something to grab on to raise him from the floor.<br/>On the flipside: Drack finds no evidence of a metallic skull.<br/><br/>