<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/originals/fc/d5/b0/fcd5b04e2458fff93763a1fb265e7967.png)</div><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">NAME:</span></strong>Malcolm Thomas (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=329085.msg15779733#msg15779733)<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>Engineering Gimp<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>Black tank top & loose black pants w/ boots.<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">LOCATION:</span></strong>Kalanhai Upper Deck | Engineering<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">CONTENT:</span></strong>Huh...What?<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">TAG:</span></strong>Flo<br/><br/><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><br/>Seven years in the military and four more years serving as the designated bitch boy of almost every lab he'd worked in had prepared him for the gruff and dismissive demeanor of the female turian.  His smile, a ready thing that rose to his lips unbidden, lingered despite having his hand brushed aside.  Sometimes he forgot the gesture was uniquely human and at the touch of the pad his arm dropped and heat flushed his cheeks over his faux pas.<br/><br/>Ducking his head, he rubbed the back of his neck and peered down at the floor between the toes of his boots.  "Shit, sorry...we can just-"  His words cut off when she spoke again, and his attention was captured by the sound of her fingers closing around the metal orbs.  Caught off-guard, his head turned to let his eyes remain on her as she brushed past and his nostrils flared when he picked up the unexpectedly sweet scent on the air.<br/><br/>Swiveling, rushing to follow along after her and speaking with an eager, conciliatory tone, he pointed to the dish beneath the bright light that held a biotic amp nestled in the pale pink gel that kept the delicate bio-compatible components from drying out.  "Th-That one's an amp I'm working on.  It's sort of a personal project I'm doing in my downtime, but it's a decent enough indication of what I need the raw materials and biogel for."<br/><br/>His teeth clicked softly together as he reminded himself that the woman was in a hurry and seemed none too keen to hear him ramble on and on about his projects.  Simple, direct, and succinct seemed to be what she was after, and he, of course, was happy to oblige.<br/><br/>"Essentially, I manufacture and repair the biotic amps and various weapon and armor upgrades by hand, which means I need a different list of raw materials than what the omnitool uses."<br/><br/>He stood peering from the tiny amp to her face, brow furrowing as he realized she hadn't given her name.  Despite himself, he breathed in deeply, seeking the aroma of oranges again and winding up with a nose full of the cinnamon-y scent of his own soap and aftershave.  Huffing, he leaned a hip against the metal table and folded his muscular arms across his chest.  "Can I ask your name?"