Plotted Mass Effect AU starter for: @sparkstorms
It had to be noted; had Cloud the choice of venue, Afterlife would quite possibly be the last place he’d choose to spend his free time; the music was too loud, and the people louder still - the next turian who decided to compliment him on his “tight waist” was going to get a hard fist right in the mandible, that was for certain. Alas, Omega had very little else in terms of relaxing entertainment lest he wanted to indulge in a spot of gambling, no strings sex or buried in deserts of red sand - none of which appealed to his tastes.
So here he was perched at the bar, surrounded by revellers of all shapes and sizes - and race - and each one a slightly different level of intoxicated. There was nothing quite more irritating than drunk people. The mercenary had made idle chit chat with the tender on duty that evening, like he always did; a young Asari maiden who was clearly in over her head, crowded behind the bar by the plethora of bodies demanding their next order. He’d offer her a hand, but the fact of the matter was he didn’t particularly want to, so he sits there nursing the mediocre brandy, not really fond of parting with the credits to earn himself a glass of the more popular and somewhat overpriced serrice Afterlife had to offer. It does the trick; slips down his throat thickly and leaves a rather pleasant burn in its wake while it fizzes nicely behind each eye. Enough at least to ease him out of another laborious day down in the docks.
He’s a little out of place here, underdressed as it were, still donning in his old, beaten armour as opposed to the fancy frills and lace of the common rabble who liked to occupy the club and get utterly shit-faced. Not that it really mattered, every single body who walked through the corridor of flames was another lump some to be added to Afterlife’s profits, and the more money Aria T’Loak made meant he’d be kept in work that little bit longer, even if Cloud had made himself rather indispensable amongst her entourage, much to the chagrin of the much bigger and meaner company she liked to keep by her throne.
Still, this evening was not unlike any other he’d spent here lamenting on the day’s events, that was until he was gifted a rather unexpected - and very unwelcome - guest there at the bar. He too wore armour and the way in which the plates knocked against the countertop gave the blond enough cause to shift his bright gaze in the man’s general direction, though not without the lazy tilt of his glass against pursed lips. He gives the guy a precautionary once over; his garb was unusual, custom built, probably, with plates of scale painted mostly in blacks and reds, the latter almost matching the shock of hair framing his face.
Cloud didn’t like the look of him, and it went without saying the expression on his face at that moment did very little to hide the fact.
