<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 20th, 2174 CE<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">WEARING: </span></strong>Casual synthetic top and 'pants' with a nice brown jacket. (https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ee/10/f7/ee10f772225f872df8cc7c242d7e19ec.jpg)<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">LOCATION:</span></strong>Middle Deck, technically |  Flo's Room.<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">CONTENT:</span></strong>Hmmm...<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">TAG:</span></strong>Malcolm Thomas<br/><br/><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><br/>Of course, as was her way, Florinthia rolled her eyes at the man's joke. He'd intentionally misinterpreted her name, and not even in the normal way. Others, she could point fun at them or try and make them second guess it, but with Malcolm's parody at play she knew it wouldn't really come off the same. “<strong>Legiticus. My family name. Florinthia Legiticus.</strong>” She blinked and frowned, knowing that there was possibly some animosity towards that name amongst certain, very specific Alliance circles. Her father had played a large enough role in the war to have his own distaste for Humanity, so no doubt there were those who were equally distasteful of him – and likely her by extension – on Humanity's side.<br/><br/>And of course, her newfound boy scout of an acquaintance wasn't going to take the hint that she was trying to shoo him away, because he instantly jumped at the chance to try and help her. It was frustrating and flattering, but she didn't have a reasonable way to say no. Either she slammed a door in his foot for trying to be helpful, like some sort of psychopath, or she sucked it up and accepted that his stubbornness was the real deal. With a reluctant '<em>Uggh</em>' passing her lips, she opened the door and offered him entrance to her abode.<br/><br/>He moved quickly and got to work, flexing and stretching and contorting in a deliciously pleasing way under his top. He might not have the firmness of a Turian's chitinous carapace, but he was plenty firm enough to draw her eye. How would it feel to...<br/><br/>She stopped her mind from wandering, focusing on the man first, as well as his insistence on being the perfect boy scout. “<strong>No need. Doctor has a mission soon, and the last thing I have to worry about is her dropping in to see a mostly-better Turian with the sniffles.</strong>” She nodded to a spot for the first box to be put. It was light, and full of changes of attire. Mostly simple cloth and basic attire, with a single more dress uniform on the bottom for military presentations. Each garment was neatly folded and carefully pressed; a sign of diligence and organisation, even if she presented herself as the bored and uncaring type.<br/><br/>The next box was heavier, full of basic materials: from a set of dumbbells and a similar set of spheres to those she'd been toying with at the start using her biotics; to a hipflask that sloshed with some unknown liquid; to a box of charcoals and a small, lap-sized box easle. Each box was open, so would be discernible with just a glance. She nodded for the second one to go underneath her desk.<br/><br/>“<strong>What are you getting out of this? The Mission, I mean. I know what you hope you might be getting out of <em>this</em>...</strong>” she nodded at the third box he was moving, which was incidentally full of a few other drawing bits, as well as an old school human kettle. “<strong>...but why are you on the mission? Was it your choice? Head-hunted? Part of a package deal?</strong>” She was trying to make some light conversation as he finished up the last couple of boxes, directing them mostly to be near her desk where she might sort them later once she'd had that blissful nap.