Chora's Den, A Gentle Men's Club In The Wards

[Nova-FoV]

Varus stared at Karra for a moment, then sighed and gestured to the waitress to bring him another drink. He was going to need it.

"Herein lies a profound difference between our two species. Where other races are usually driven to advance by ambition, no Turian will ever be given a position that he is not ready for, and if he is, the fault lies in the one who put him there. When I was inducted into the Spectres, I was ready, and I felt that way."

He rubbed a hand over his face. "Honestly. Didn't you take any of the Spectre training courses?"

[Marek]

Karra listened to Varus talk before realizing, that she probably should have paid more attention the training she had taken. "I did, but I kind of didn't pay all the attention I could have." She smirked a bit and than shrugged her shoulders. "Well, at least your going to help me right, I mean where do I go for a mission, or whatever. Do I have to talk to someone or something?" She asked inquisitively.

As she waited for his response, she decided to order a drink of her own. She read of some name she had heard one time, and the bartender gave a strange look as he started creating the concoction. A few minutes later the drink was delivered and she took a tentative sip. It nearly caused her to black out and choke from the harsh taste. "What is this... You actually drink this stuff. I wonder why it tastes so bad." She immediately remembered the conversations she had been having with Varus and quickly ended her tangent. "Sorry, sir. I get side tracked, I'll try to control myself."

[Nova-FoV]

In his head, Varus slapped his forehead and called her an idiot. But he figured actually doing something like that in front of her might bring her to tears, or evoke an even worse emotional reaction, and that was the last thing he wanted right now. "You're a Spectre," he snapped at her. "You answer to the Council and only the Council. If that wasn't clear from day one, I don't know what the hell you're still doing here."

He sat back and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm himself. He hardly even noticed her tangent about the drink, except for a thought that occurred to him wherein he hoped she never had to negotiate with a criminal, because she'd get rejected the moment she couldn't take any liquor. "Your ambassador might deliver assignments to you from the Council, or you may run across work for yourself. The Council might not come up with something for you to do for months, especially because you're so..." He paused to think of something unoffensive. "New. In the mean time, sharpen up your own skills. Help out C-Sec here on the Citadel, or head out into the galaxy and track down some pirates or stranded ships. Get yourself ready for the time that the Council does have something important for you to do."

[andy ray]

Feeling an edge sink back into his head, Guy had decided it was time for another trip to Chora's. It had been his home away from home... which was just a few access halls away. Side-stepping the usually large crowd, he navigated himself to a comfy den seat in view of the dancers. His head was killing him, and he needed a refill. Running his heads through his bed-head ridden hair, I tilted his head up at the sound of a cute female voice.

"What'll it be, big boy?" the red-headed human waitress offered. Guy looked her up and down, almost as if he were at an art gallery. He could tell the affection was fake as hell, but with a body like that, he really just didn't give a damn.

"Oldest scotch you got behind that bar, sunshine..." He letting his fake grin shine like the sun. Off the woman went, her heels clicking away like the seconds till she finished her shift. He often took a little pleasure in yanking these girls chains. And really? What would it hurt to try, he thought to himself. The loud alien-techno beats pulsed throughout the club he could hardly hear himself think.

After what seemed like an eternity the waitress finally returned with his drink. He waved her off as an exqisitely fit aasari, with what barely passes for clothing in any culture slinks down into his lap. "Care for a dance? 20 credit per dance..3 song minimum." she leaned in closely beside his ear, her hand roaming the front of his chest.

"Actually... I was interested in the red-light special." He looked at her, knowingly. Her eyes flickered across the room, before acknowledging the request. She didn't recognize any officers around, but she'd heard a couple Spectres lurking by the bar, of course, they could've been only talking about Spectres.

"200 then, Party-Boy..." reaching into her bra, the aasari pulled out a small bag of fine red powder and slipped it into Guy's breast pocket on his jacket.

Although down a few credits, inhaling sharply from the bag, he grinned stupidly as he watched the rest of the night play out.