It's raining. Their camp, set up under a small overhang against a cliff, doesn't do well at keeping the cold rain out. Medvar's been trying to light a campfire for half an hour, slowly getting more and more angry with it. Meros is propped up against the rock wall, vacantly staring out into the rainy forest. He's battered, bandaged, and bruised, but there's still a little smile on his face.
The Nord finally gives up on the fire, hurling a pair of sticks off into the trees with a growl. "This is pointless, I'd rather just be cold!" He moves to sit against the wall, a few feet away from the Dunmer, giving him a disgusted look. "What's got you s
Haldor's first impression of the unfamiliar Dunmer was that he was an idiot. The guy wasn't even paying attention to his surroundings as he traveled. It didn't take much effort to sneak up on him, and, well, Haldor isn't the most stealthy of Nords. He had his blade to the ashy-toned neck without even a little resistance. The elf was in expensive armor and his weapons looked expensive. Haldor had no doubt that the greyskin must have stolen them.
His second impression was that he'd underestimated the Dunmer. He wasn't sure how the elf had managed to press that dagger up to his stomach, right at a weak point in his armor. The knife felt hot thr
Commander John Shepard is a dog person, not a cat person.
With dogs, mostly, he likes the idea of the phrase 'man's best friend'. A dog's loyal, if you treat it well, no questions asked. The big ones can be damn good soldiers, too, which Shepard sees as a bonus for any creature. There's not too many dogs left, anymore, since they don't take to being offworld very well. There were a couple little packs of strays that used to wander one of the Citadel Wards, but some Batarians found out that doc meat isn't half bad, and they're all gone, now.
Varren are almost as good as dogs, Shepard thinks, just a bit more aggressive. Not necessarily a bad
within his first week working the lab he had made absolutely no notable impression on anyone, he thought. he was not a star student he was not a social butterfly he was not a disruption he was just a worker bee, here. his hair is dark brown and his eyes are yellow and his skin is as pale as one would expect from a man who spends his hours inside pouring over papers and huddled in front of computer screens and nobody bothers to learn his face as he blends in among the majority of the others flawlessly. he qualifies as a genius anywhere else but here that is standard. the only thing aside is his age. twenty six is just a child to most of the ot