<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/06/2a/7b/062a7b89e65aade4f736c10f2702987c.jpg)</div><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">NAME:</span></strong>Galeaus Centuri (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=335654.msg15962427#msg15962427)<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>Council Spectre<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">DATE:</span></strong>December 18th, 2174 CE<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">WEARING:</span></strong>Heavy Turian Armour, Orange-and-Black, without Helmet.<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">LOCATION:</span></strong>Enlil Hanger<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">CONTENT:</span></strong>Walk with me, Doc.<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">TAG:</span></strong>Sam, [Mentioned] Mischa and Viella.<br/><br/><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><br/>The woman's tone was...honestly a bit more comforting for Galeaus than he might openly admit. He'd spent too much time with the Council and its bureaucrats recently. His crew was a small solace, but the burden of leadership was to strain your relationships with those you led. It demanded a degree of respect and adherence that made conversation just that little bit fake, and that little bit false. Viella and Mischa would be fair and honest, but both had to be burdened with being supplicants to the Spectre. Samantha, in contrast, was not so bound. She could be rude, crass, and blunt. She used that freedom immediately, giving a vibrant and vivid description of her thoughts on the Council. “I don't disagree, but why am I the one punished with the mental image of runny Varren crap?” He chuckled, listening as the Doctor went on to talk about the situation itself.<br/><br/>The confirmation that this...disease? Was it right to call it a disease? Whatever it was, it wasn't airborne, and it wasn't transferred by anything but overtly. The Turian breathed a sigh of relief, before reaching up and pulling at the latches of his armour's helmet. One, two, three, four latches were yanked off before he was able to twist the seal loose enough to start the suit's auto-disengage system for the helm. With a few more whirs of mechanical motion, the helmet receded into the armour and revealed the Turian's avian features. Sharp, strong, slender, and without the normal painted marks of the species that denoted home-world or clan. He took a second to inhale the air, before his nose wrinkled. Smoke, death, and pollution. Yup, that checked out. “Alright. So we need to prioritise establishing and strengthening a perimeter, setting up a laboratory, and getting you a sample. What else do you need to make this work?” He was in work mode at the moment, even if the woman opposite was in desperate need of something to smile about. He imagined that if Viella and Mischa were interested, they'd notice him with his helmet off and know they could remove their own, but he sent a message via Omnitool to inform them of the same thing regardless.