theroguesniper:

Business with the Commander, huh? Now there was an intriguing thought. He’d be lying if he said his interest hadn’t been piqued. What could the Primarch possibly want with Shepard? Well, savior of the galaxy thing aside, of course. Garrus hoped briefly -perhaps against hope- that it didn’t have to do with politics. Talk about tedious and insufferable. He knew better than to preach, however, so he went back to talking about the lounge. Perhaps he could ask Shepard about Victus later.

“Pazaak, sir? Afraid not. I hear it’s very similar to human Blackjack… though, personally, I’d say it’s closer to Quasar.” His tone was conversational, as he relaxed somewhat and fell into his role of host for the evening. “Either way, it can be played with Poker or Spanish cards, and we happen to have several decks of each on board. Just in case.” Garrus hit the green button that would open the doors to the Lounge and stepped aside to let the Primarch through, then followed and walked straight to the bar.

"May I offer you something to drink, sir? We have an excellent selection, if I do say so myself. Not to brag or anything, but I stocked the dextro-friendly drinks myself.” bending over, he pulled three different bottles and set them on the bar. “We have whiskey… brandy… ah, I’d been saving this one. Wine. Good year.” he showcased each of the bottles as he named them, and waited for Victus to make a choice. He’d have whatever the Primarch decided on.

“So… Shepard give you trouble, Sir?” There it was, no more awkward out-of-place turian. “She does usually get her way, you know. Mostly. Drives the Council up the walls. I just think it’s funny.”

             “I just might take you up on  game or two, then.  Just let me get reasonably besotted, first."  Victus paused.  "Shepard kept me from getting what I want.  I’m actually impressed, to be honest.  But, I wish I had the liberty of acting so freely with the Council.” He murmured distractedly, eyes raking over the labeling of the choice vintages before him. “Sometimes I think about just disconnecting mid-conversation, but utilizing the QEC as we now do won’t permit me to use the excuse of a malfunctioning comm buoy."  He shrugged and reached for the scotch.  He poured himself a glass, on the rocks, and proffered the bottle to Garrus, browplates raised.

             "Damn, Vakarian.” He chuckled as he downed the zircon liquid.  “Good choice.  You know, it’s disorienting.  This ship.  The Normandy.  Her design is turian, but this…lounge, here.  This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen on a military vessel.  Don’t the humans have regs against this sort of thing?

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HW