[The Frontier] Farewell

"Uh, no. I'm PFC Rajapaske, Recon marksman. You're Titan mercs, right?" There. Socialising. At the slither of something under his shirt she raised an eyebrow, "You have something," She waved a hand at him, "There."

She just wanted to get onto the ship, stow her gear and go play HV games in the rec lounge with the other Marines. [i]Degrees[/i[ had come out and she really wanted to play it and she wouldn't have a chance once they got into a combat zone-if they got into a combat zone but even if they didn't she was going to be really busy.

"...Is that a varren?" She asked at Cline's entrance. "Wearing a helmet?"

She'd seen things but a warbeast wearing a helmet and acting like it was, was something else.

Freh’ya raised an eyebrow at Cline. She had no idea what an M4 Sherman was, she only saw that the part of the vehicle that was visible in the picture looked incredibly crude, so most likely an outdated model.

“Nice” she commented. “You won’t keep it in the crew quarters though, right?”
The animal raised attention already, as she noted with a bit of amusement.
“Is this an official asset or is this a kind of pet or mascot? You didn’t have it last time around.”

Who would authorize a mascot for this kind of mission though?

"Well, he's not coming on this mission either. My Company CO in the 9th gonna be taking care of Urz while I'm a part of this." Michael explained.

The mercenary leaned back on his crate again, tipping it back on the edge. A careful balancing act, a joint exercise in core strength and complete and total boredom. "I know who you are, I'm asking what you're doing over he-"

A tap from a booted foot "ohshit" and the metal container tipped back completely, spilling Sanageyama onto the hard plated floor. Rajapaske's decidedly unsmiling face replaced by an even lovelier view of the distant ceiling between upturned legs.

"...that was uncalled for."

"You were being an ass bro."

"I was not."

A green eyed glare from the deck, quickly obscured as the woman from the window perched daintily on the edge of the recently vacated crate.

"Mmmmyyyeeeaaaaah." She was a lean thing. Not thin, not petite, those words didn't really apply to a woman who looked as if she could probably benchpress the man currently lying on the floor and making grumpy faces at the roof even if she didn't exactly have his stature or build. "Sorry about that, he hasn't enjoyed the commute all that much. Hi, I'm Jakuzure. Yes, we are with Titan aaaaaand"

Blink. Blink blink.

"...was that a varren?"

"Yes."

"...we could have brought warbeasts?"

"I don't know."

"Man do you know anything?"

A sigh, the click of vertebrae and Sanageyama sat up, sword still in hand. On his feet, brushing off the assorted dust and dirt that smudged his jacket (seriously did they ever clean in here?); giving the world as a whole a decidedly aggrieved look, interspersed now and again with an expression that could only be quantified as "...what?" as he finally took stock of the turnout.

"Apparently not."

A lot of humans? Not that surprising.

A group of quarians? Now that was surprising. There wasn't any geth with them though... well, there weren't any geth in platforms at least. Maybe one of the quarians had a geth riding shotgun with their suit. Was there a way to politely ask that? She would have to think on that.

Ohhh, there was Titan here. One group at least wouldn't be pants on head stupid... Hopefully. Some of them weren't very patient judging by the conversation. That wasn't exactly a good trait to have here.

She glanced over her shoulder and couldn't decide whether to grimace or smile. There was nobody she recognized as far as she could tell. Her gaze moved back to the ships, her mind pondering how she would fly the Mashhad just in case.

The quarians, having being somewhat startled when someone mentioned a varren, and then the soft sound of a body hitting the floor, raising themselves, fairly alarmed by what they assumed was happening. They found that the incidents happened to be separate, one of the mercenaries having being vacated from his seat, and the human marines somehow having a varren wearing a helmet of all things.

"...Well, not something you see everyday. Feels like pilgrimage all over again, so many new and weird things. Take those mercenaries for example, not something that's seen in Citadel space everyday, especially with that sort of gear." one of the quarians said, gesturing at the Myrmidons. It wasn't long before another one of the quarians chimed in on the the odd assortment of beings in the waiting room.

"Well, there's also that weird-looking geth talking to the turian there. I didn't think they'd try emulating us like that. Or wear clothing for that matter as well, I mean, why would a platform do that in the first place?" said another, before they shrugged and went back to their previous conversation, a little mystified over recent events and observations.

The various conversations taking place in the holding area were interrupted by a door on the far end of it opening and a few harried-looking sailors coming in and starting to direct people through said doorway, "This way please. Just keep following the corridor until you get to the ship. Please proceed to the cargo hold, the captain will be giving an address. Please don't touch anything, thank you."

The corridor was spartan, bright silver metal and a few scanners verifying identity even now, leading to an open airlock guarded by two Marines in full armour, their faces hidden behind their opaque visors. Past the Marines was yet another maze of corridors, the crowd of Marines and contractors directed down, down, down into the ship's bulk, until they reached the cavernous cargo hold, piled high with supplies for the voyage.

The captain awaited. There was a steel to her posture as she stood, watching her newest guests come aboard her ship.

Movement was coming into the group as they were herded down the gangway. It was clear to see who was sticking together as a group or had their own little command structure. The few other asari noticed her and greetings were exchanged. Freh’ya didn’t say much or assume anything. The organization of teams would be made elsewhere.

Don’t touch anything. What in all the voids… they weren’t supposed to be tourists on a guided tour. But maybe that guy just couldn’t help it with a bunch of strangers flooding his ship. She chuckled.

She came to walk beside Rajapaske who seemed to be on her own but stuck close to a group of Titan mercs. She nodded a recognizing greeting to the smaller woman. Known variables in the equation. “Hello, Private.”

When everyone assembled in the cargo bay, she had a close look at the Captain. Let’s see how this goes and if they actually had comfortable bunks for someone her size.

Cline followed Frey'ah down the corridors, all three of his duffle bags on his shoulders. Giving a nod to the marines guarding the airlock, he entered the ship.

"Yeah, yeah, I know the way to the damn cargo bay. Served on a Dresden Class before the War." he says to the sailors motioning him to the Mashhad's Cargo bay.

"It's Private First Class," Rajapaske replied, a little more sharply than she'd intended. People were always getting her rank wrong but at least it was probably because Freh'ya was less familiar with Alliance ranks and the distinction between PFC and Private, instead of deliberately or because she looked so young. Wincing slightly and ducking her head a little, she rubbed the back of her neck, "Uh, sorry. Nice to see you again. You've been doing a lot of work for the Alliance?"

Then she turned her head to see Cline, dark eyes sparking with recognition. The Alliance was big, the galaxy was big and yet she'd already run into two people she knew, "Service Chief." She really, really shouldn't try to correct a Service chief, because that was what got you smoked and she really didn't want to have to carry all her stuff onto the Mashhad after being smoked, "Not everyone knows the outlay of the ship, Service Chief. It's big."

Like really big and a bit maze-like at times.

The sailors that Cline had spoken to stared blandly back and continued ushering people.

Gamlitz sat and watched as the crowd boarded the ship. His training with the Cabals had him studying every person that passed by. He glared at the Varren, It wasn't often you saw those repulsive things around anymore. Gamlitz was dealing with a layover from Earth to Palaven. Apparently, the Human civilian vessels always stopped by the Citadel, Maybe it was because those who weren't in the ranks of the alliance rarely ever got to see it. This group of people, however, were mildly entertaining to Gamlitz. He found himself chuckling at a bunch of Mercs, To make it worse they were Titan. I guess flotilla's these days are hiring the quack shows to come guard their ships He thought to himself. There was a shout from the back of the dock.
"WAIT, WAIT UP, I'M SUPPOSED TO BE ON THAT SHIP, WAIT FOR ME!"
Gamlitz rolled his eyes as a Chunky kid that didn't look a year over 18 scrambled towards the boarding party.

Ranks. Why so complicated and why separate Navy and Marines? Freh’ya was always grouping them in their head to fit the asari system which knew much less actual ranks and was more function and seniority oriented. Huntress, Group Speaker, Guards Speaker… It wasn’t even really translatable. She knew her mere rank was about equal that of company-officer in human terms but her age was a factor that would never really fit another system. She wondered how well the others were familiar with the swirly emblem on her upper arm in return. She flinched and admitted she should brush up on Alliance terms while on this tour. Turians were much less complicated. But maybe that was just the couple of centuries of experience with them. Salarians were even easier, STG rarely revealing their rank but only their function anyway.

“Sorry ‘bout that, PFC. Yeah, somehow I am tagged obviously. You know how that is, you build experience with something and then you’re it.” She chuckled while saying that. “Technically it’s more of a Council mission than last time. At least I keep meeting the same faces.” She pointed out Cline. “I am not complaining. How have you been?”

Worag merely settled for glaring at the turian who stood up for the weird mechman. Speaking of them, lots of augmented people had come here. Full team of Titan mercs. Wonderful. This gig was going to be simply wonderful. He might need sedatives after all in transit to put up with this. Before he could muster, or bother with a response, the Alliance troopers came to usher them inside.

So many species here. Hells, this must have been what it was like during the war.

"You know, we're just missing vorcha and drell here for this to turn into legit N7 mission." The krogan informed others of his thoughts.

Kraask sat in the corner just observing all the people on the vessel with him. Nobody was paying much attention to him, and if they did notice him, he just watched a familiar disgusted expression come upon their faces. Funny he thought to himself, none of them know i'm actually educated. Kraask was used to being compared to his kin. Vorcha have always been thought of as stupid and barbaric. Kraask had one duty on this ship, He was an engineer. He got to all the hard to reach places and fixed parts of the ship that would be dangerous to any of the other species.

He heard a Krogan mention the word Vorcha.

"There's at least one Vorcha here" He exclaimed, Pride filled him as one Asari smiled back.

"I can't trust it while I sleep" a voice snapped from the crowd, Kraask couldn't make out where the voice came from.

He just rolled his eyes, Fighting back his inner instinct to snap back or cause any kind of violence. Kraask was familiar with
the importance of morale, and everybody on this crew needed it for the long trip ahead.

Maybe I can change their perspective of Vorcha Kraask started daydreaming, If only somebody could save his race from their
hostile nature. If only he could educate other Vorcha and make them viable members of intergalactic society. My life span works against me. Nobody would ever understand the pressure of having an average life span of 20 years.

It took a bit for Emma to gather her bearings on the ship to notice several things. One, there were a lot of aliens, a pair of quarians and turians each, a krogan, and that asari looked familiar. In fact, a couple people looked familiar.

She walked up to the two marines socializing.

"Excuse me" She said out loud to Cline and Rajapaske, getting their attention. "Not sure if you recognize me, but I think we served together a few months ago."

Palmer glanced over at the door as it opened and then turned back to the window, waiting a few seconds to let most of the crowd get through the door. When most people were moving down the tunnel she started to stroll over. She looked around as she traveled through the halls, pondering getting a cruiser for later in life. That could be fun. She continued to look around even the cargo hold, trying to figure out if there was an N7 complement or any ONI personnel aboard. It would be fun to chat.

"I've been busy," Rajapaske said matter-of-factly, "I'm part of the Recon unit stationed on this ship now." Recon was being shipped all over Alliance space so she'd rarely been in one place for more than a few months. She was okay with that, she wasn't sure what she'd do if she was put in a garrison and had to deal with all the unrest.

At the new arrival, she turned her head to look at Emma with dark eyes, "I remember you. The FNG. Hell of a first posting."

The quarian squad picked up their weapon cases and headed towards the boarding umbilical as the sailors came out and started waving people in, not minding the scanning (With environmental suits, it was a fairly reasonable precaution), but otherwise keeping a brisk pace as they headed inside the ship, Nodding at the marine guards as they entered.

Delving into the hold of the Mashhad, into the simply massive cargo bay, gawking at the sheer mass of supplies in it. Eyeing out a couple of crates in particular, the quarian troopers gathered on the floorspace nearby, snapping a salute towards the ship's captain before standing.

"Well aren't you the popular one?" Jakuzure kept pace with the Recon marine easily, Sanageyama besides, hands in his pockets and quietly contemplative as they were led and/or herded through the industrial warren of corridors and passageways. The Titan mercenaries had fallen into a sort of loose marching formation behind the pair, a solid block of company colors. Give them battle standards and they could have been right at home on some ancient battlefield, flying cnidarian-analogue bringing up the rear excluded.

"And with all the free agents too," Dryer than desert air, the elder brother's amusement was faint over the edge of his high collar "I didn't know the Citadel made a habit of getting their troops piece-"

Jakuzure flicked his ear "Be nice", and smiled at the various hangers on emerging from the press of bodies. Warm. Sunny. Bright. And with a few oh so delicate shades of "I saw her first you skank ass bitches so kindly back the fuck up". You know, perfectly normal girl talk. Fun fact: the baring of teeth is a threatening gesture in many species of primate and wow do those pearly whites gleam.

"-meal." He finished rubbing the side of his head.

The conversation had carried them into the hold proper, a labyrinth of boxes and crates and casings, their own tech and tools buried somewhere deep within. Forming into their own group as they spilled out into the open field, holding a patch of floor with the sheer power of presence was second nature.