"Remind me of just how many popularity contests he's won lately. Or ever."

Weakness is a fairly appropriate word for the root of his irritation (there's a certain, incessant itch that stems from a lack of metal digging in against his palms in a place like this) the rest of it though? Goes to the former prothean at his side.

Garrus raps a few knuckles against the door panel to the lounge, waits for it to open and sets to work rummaging through supplies as soon as he steps in. The quicker they find what's left in this place to trade off for a little serious firepower, the better.