Javik gives him a side-eyed look, "I believe he is the leader of his people. I think that would make him," he holds up his hands, reflexively draws down single fingers, "'popular' enough by your standards."
Not as if he believed popularity mattered (clearly). But it is a fine distraction. This place disturbs him, which in turn angers him. He thinks that humans designed it to be 'pleasant' to the eye but the curves and bends, the organic nature of it gives him pause. Reminds him of worse places. The feelings are out of place- he is certain this form is affecting is mind. But they have a mission. There is comfort in that.
He sets to work on the opposite side of the room, digging through whatever has been left by the (he assumes) dead. It is not a good job for him; much of what humans value is beyond him. There is little chance of finding any weapons or armor. More likely they would find things whose use he could only hazard a guess at. He doesn't look up when he hears an echo in the distance as doors slide open and closed. They would do well to get what they came for. Sooner rather than later.
So bookshelves are pawed through, electronics scavenged, a few well-designed tumblers catch his eye when the pack he'd brought along for the trip starts digging into the line of his shoulder. He lifts one up, turns it over in his palm using a few fingers (honed skill right there) and holds it out: aimed in Javik's general direction so the carefully shaped rim of it glints in the light. "Humans are into this sort of thing, right?"
Light that flickers, stuttering rapidly for a few seconds before dying out entirely. Great.
"You have more experience with them than I. They were 'in' to eating carrion for most of my life," regardless, he takes a look in Garrus's direction, studies the thing as well as he can from that angle. He is about to say 'take it anyway' to make up for his own nearly empty bag when the lights go out, leaving them in essential darkness.
He swears, the darkness is sudden and suffocating, his pathetic vision had grown used to the bright white, reflective walls, and for a moment he can see nothing but the echo of the Turian's outstretched hand, a faded impression on the back of his eyelids.
"Curse this place," he growls, stands up, too quickly. His head is light and he can see nothing, "Turian, you have a flashlight, do you not? These primitive human eyes lack night vision."
There's a split-second spent in darkness where Garrus considers his options; whether he should make an attempt to pocket the glass first or put it back and risk shattering it on the floor. Backpack. Going with the backpack.
"Give me a minute." He only burns up half that much before the light from his communicator breaks through the darkness. "And the most resourceful turian of the year award goes to..."
Javik growls, less at the Turian than the situation. He can still hear, distantly, the sounds of movement. Some mechanical, others less so. It is disconcerting, and that makes him angrier. Anger, that was easy.
"Take your time," he says. It is very clear he does not mean it. It is not long, however, before the thin light of his communication device pulls back the darkness. It is not much, but his eyes had already begun to adapt to the black, so he can see the outline of the room and the edges of the Turian's face. Too smug.
"I pity your species. Come, we should see how far this darkness goes."
He trusts himself to move through the lounge, although he keeps his feet almost on the ground. The steps are awkward and shuffling but he trusts the Turian will not mention this.
The door is shut, but they are far from the exterior of the ship, and he is pretty sure- "Help me with this door, I think we can open it."
There's a chance. If not, they would have to look for something to pry it with, with luck they would find something before the light on the communicator died.
He skips the jab, rolling straight into jamming his fingers (or attempting to, anyway) in the slight crack between sealed sliding doors. One additional second spent tucking the comm into his pocket before the other hand follows suit.
"So tell me--" his sentence breaking with a low grunt, muscles going taut from effort. "ever had any awkward situations with the whole 'hand scanner' thing, because I feel like that could get real ugly real fast."
The light from Garrus's communicator does not reveal much this close up, less when it is in his pocket. It flicks back and forth across the doorway as they pull, straining against the gears of the door.
"Less than you might think Turian, to us it is as natural as breathing. Far more often it is a boon."
The door remains stubborn and fixed, and he can feel weakness in his fingers, damn them, "However, we have difficulty with dishonesty. Other, lesser races, sometimes found us to be," he growls a little, leans his body weight back, "blunt."
With that his fingers slipped, causing him to elbow Garrus firmly in the chest and leaving him more frustrated than before, "We do not have time for this! We must find a way to open this door."
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no subject
Not as if he believed popularity mattered (clearly). But it is a fine distraction. This place disturbs him, which in turn angers him. He thinks that humans designed it to be 'pleasant' to the eye but the curves and bends, the organic nature of it gives him pause. Reminds him of worse places. The feelings are out of place- he is certain this form is affecting is mind. But they have a mission. There is comfort in that.
He sets to work on the opposite side of the room, digging through whatever has been left by the (he assumes) dead. It is not a good job for him; much of what humans value is beyond him. There is little chance of finding any weapons or armor. More likely they would find things whose use he could only hazard a guess at. He doesn't look up when he hears an echo in the distance as doors slide open and closed. They would do well to get what they came for. Sooner rather than later.
no subject
"Point taken."
So bookshelves are pawed through, electronics scavenged, a few well-designed tumblers catch his eye when the pack he'd brought along for the trip starts digging into the line of his shoulder. He lifts one up, turns it over in his palm using a few fingers (honed skill right there) and holds it out: aimed in Javik's general direction so the carefully shaped rim of it glints in the light. "Humans are into this sort of thing, right?"
Light that flickers, stuttering rapidly for a few seconds before dying out entirely. Great.
no subject
He swears, the darkness is sudden and suffocating, his pathetic vision had grown used to the bright white, reflective walls, and for a moment he can see nothing but the echo of the Turian's outstretched hand, a faded impression on the back of his eyelids.
"Curse this place," he growls, stands up, too quickly. His head is light and he can see nothing, "Turian, you have a flashlight, do you not? These primitive human eyes lack night vision."
no subject
There's a split-second spent in darkness where Garrus considers his options; whether he should make an attempt to pocket the glass first or put it back and risk shattering it on the floor. Backpack. Going with the backpack.
"Give me a minute." He only burns up half that much before the light from his communicator breaks through the darkness. "And the most resourceful turian of the year award goes to..."
no subject
"Take your time," he says. It is very clear he does not mean it. It is not long, however, before the thin light of his communication device pulls back the darkness. It is not much, but his eyes had already begun to adapt to the black, so he can see the outline of the room and the edges of the Turian's face. Too smug.
"I pity your species. Come, we should see how far this darkness goes."
He trusts himself to move through the lounge, although he keeps his feet almost on the ground. The steps are awkward and shuffling but he trusts the Turian will not mention this.
The door is shut, but they are far from the exterior of the ship, and he is pretty sure- "Help me with this door, I think we can open it."
There's a chance. If not, they would have to look for something to pry it with, with luck they would find something before the light on the communicator died.
no subject
"So tell me--" his sentence breaking with a low grunt, muscles going taut from effort. "ever had any awkward situations with the whole 'hand scanner' thing, because I feel like that could get real ugly real fast."
no subject
"Less than you might think Turian, to us it is as natural as breathing. Far more often it is a boon."
The door remains stubborn and fixed, and he can feel weakness in his fingers, damn them, "However, we have difficulty with dishonesty. Other, lesser races, sometimes found us to be," he growls a little, leans his body weight back, "blunt."
With that his fingers slipped, causing him to elbow Garrus firmly in the chest and leaving him more frustrated than before, "We do not have time for this! We must find a way to open this door."