Mojo raised his head, his green eyes glowering. A low growl rolled in the back of his throat. He rammed the fork into the piece of meat on his plate, lifted it, and tore a bite off. Slowly chewing, he lowered his mandibles, baring his sharp teeth. The man with the tray in his hand sidestepped away from Mojo's table, and steered towards one that was already occupied. With an apologetic grin he squeezed himself between two other crew members. Mojo held back a chuckle, then bit his tongue to fight down a cough when his food went the wrong way.
The mess was a busy place at every hour. Breakfast, lunch and dinner were offered around the clock to accommodate the different shifts of crew and squad members, and there was always someone in the need of coffee. Like the bar in the lounge, the mess was the place to go to find company, with less alcohol but more food involved.
Mojo took another bite. He had eaten worse - while the meat was too well done for his taste and lacked spices he was glad it was, well, meat. Only few turians were on board, and so far he had seen one quarian, and all of them were lucky that the kitchen added real dextro food to the menu. A piece of meat tough and dry as leather was better than a diet of vitamin-enriched liquids and protein pastes. No, he saw no reason to complain about the food on board of an Alliance - human-centered - ship. If he had to complain, it would be about the noise.
Tired faces smiled over their dinner, lively ones, refreshed from their sleep and a shower, enjoyed a good chat along with their bacon and eggs. It was funny, many levo dishes didn't look much different from what Mojo knew from his home. Yet, he didn't even want to imagine the taste when a scent that reminded him of Omega's sewers crept into his nose. He held his breath, but the smell didn't pass.
"Morning, Mojo!"
Mojo sighed, tearing his eyes away from the group of humans he had been observing. After defending his table for the last half of an hour, his peaceful solitude was destroyed by - Arek, of course. With one of his wide grins on his face, Arek sat down, placing a tray in front of him. Scrambled eggs, toast, and a small bowl with a weird grey sludge.
"It's porridge. Healthy, filling, sweet. Wanna try?" Arek shoved the tablet towards Mojo, also offering him a spoon.
"I don't think I could digest that if it was dextro. Spirits, keep that away from me!" He turned his head away, slowly exhaling, waiting a moment before he dared to breathe again. He was one of the more fortunate individuals of his race who didn't become sick, but he couldn't stand the smell of cooked levo food. There were a few levo dishes that didn't taste like anything to him - or with even a tolerable taste - but even in those rare cases the scent alone made him sick. His brain and stomach dealt better with food that smelled and tasted horrible, than the contradiction of flavorless or acceptable food coming with a revolting stench.
"Why don't you have a seat and keep me company." He put down his fork and pushed his plate away. Crossing his arms, he leaned back in his chair, glaring at the human.
"You're pulling the sarcasm card a bit late." Not in the least flustered, Arek was shoveling the sludge into his mouth. "You're really missing out here. It's Tanya's shift, and she's making a damn good porridge. The others never get the consistence right, and Tidus always adds too much salt. A pinch, to enhance the flavor, I told him, not half a pound!"
Mojo sighed, poking the remains of his dish with the fork. He had slept in far too long, and after skipping dinner the night before he had been starving by the time he climbed out of his bed. After wasting his time in the sickbay while Dr. Wilson had insisted to repeat his whole lecture from the day before, a simple breakfast hadn't sounded satisfying. So he had requested dinner instead, and enjoyed his meal in his own fashion. He should have guessed it wouldn't last, things had been too smooth.
"Not much of a talker after getting up, eh?" Arek had finished his bowl and took a hearty bite from his toast, scattering crumbs across the table.
"Have I ever looked like much of a talker, any time?" In spite of himself, Mojo smirked at the notion that anyone who knew him would expect him to be interested in a lively conversation.
"Nope. Can you tell me if you were criticizing me, or joking about yourself?"
"Read it from my face." Sometimes, Arek was making it too easy for him to tease him, it was boring - almost. Seeing him blush and squirm when confronted with his shortcomings never got old.
"That's fair and unfair at the same time," Arek sighed. He shoved his chair closer to the table, and leaned over his plate, and Mojo realized that his taunt backfired. He fought the impulse to jump up and leave, Palaven would freeze over before he lost this little game to this human. He held still, feeling his mandibles twitching while Arek kept staring at his face, searching it for changes and movement. Mojo refused to return the watching gaze, and pride forbade him to turn his head away. Somebody from the table behind Arek stood up, and Mojo took that as a welcome excuse to study that person's back. The impatient tapping on the top of the table irritated him. He was ready to snap at Arek, when he realized it were the tips of his own short, but pointy claws. He clenched his fingers to a fist, relaxed them, and grabbed the glass of water that was standing on his tray.
"Damn, there's a lot going on! I never noticed! I always thought only those things at the sides could move, but I was wrong." Arek pointed at the plates above the turian's eyes. "They move and twitch, almost like eyebrows, guess that's why it's so easy to tell that you're frowning at me right now." Grinning with satisfaction, Arek picked up his coffee mug, wrapping both his hands around it. "Before that, your nose twitched a bit, not sure what it means, though, but it's kinda cute."
Cute?! Mojo slammed the glass down on the table, the water spilling over the rim and his hand.
"There!" Arek chuckled, taking a slow sip of coffee, enjoying the situation without a doubt. "You just did it again. Say, does that only happen when you're irritated? Would be a waste."
Mojo wiped his hand dry on his shirt, hissing a curse that escaped the translator. He was grateful that the plating and his dark skin didn't give away how the blood was shooting up his face. He had never understood how humans could live with the knowledge that their faces gave their emotions away so easily. Sure, he had met more than a few that were in control over some of their muscles, but, like eyes, the skin of humans never lied. There was a soft, pink glow on Arek's face, and a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Even without the grin, Mojo would have known that this human was amusing himself tremendously, on his, Mojo's, expense. Worse, he couldn't blame him, he had picked on Arek about his inability to interpret turian faces and accused him of being shallow so often, it had to backfire one day.
"Is there a reason why you're noticing that now? You've been best buddies with the kid since day one, how about staring at her face?" The battle wasn't lost yet just because the human won an insignificant fight.
"No idea if that's different for turians, but among humans, staring at other people's faces is pretty impolite. Didn't want to offend her." Without a worry in the world, let alone a hint of guilt, Arek enjoyed his coffee.
"Oh, Thank you." The nerve!
"Hey, you said I should read it from your face." Leaning back, his head tilted and flashing another smile, Arek was well aware of his second victory. He generously waved the hand with the mug, declaring the battle over and changed the topic. "But that aside. Don't you think it's about time you use her name? She's young, yeah, but I can't say Rani's acting like a kid at all."
Mojo was turning the half-empty glass between his thumb and two fingers, tracing a drop with a fingertip. Water was fascinating. The only thing in the known galaxy that was the same everywhere. Levo, dextro, it didn't matter. They all needed the same kind of water, with the same taste to everyone, to survive. He glanced at the steam spiraling from Arek's mug.
By the spirits, I 'd kill for a good coffee. It was a shame that levo coffee was so damn sweet to his tongue, and while the kitchen did an okay job with meat and most vegetables, their dextro coffee was an insult to his tongue. Too thin, and the last time he had given it a chance, too bitter, minus any other flavor - as it was bound to happen when someone with no knowledge about good coffee was in charge of selecting coffee powder. If he had the power to wish Omega to hell, he'd spare that one thrift store. Old, broken parts, scrap metal, nothing of interest, but the owner, a quarian whose pilgrimage had ended between crime and trash, brewed a coffee he'd kill for. Someone once did, that day two unlucky goons tried to rob the store while a trio of Eclipse mercs was haggling with the quarian while enjoying her coffee..
"Mojo?"
Mojo snapped out of his thoughts, lost for a moment - why was he still in the mess, why was Arek sitting across the table and calmly watching him? Ah, yes. That had been the reason why he tried to think of something else in the first place, to forget about the curious gaze that made him self-conscious about the movements in his own face.
"The kid, yeah. A habit, she's young," he tried to recover the thread of the conversation. "You're right though, she's mature for her age, no doubt. Smart kid, very smart."
"You sound like a grandpa when talking like that. That," Arek chuckled, putting down his mug, and pointing at Mojo with a knowing grin. "Or you know turians of that age that aren't that mature. Or - weren't. When they used to be 19, instead of the, what was it, 32 years they're now."
"31, and no, you couldn't be more wrong." His mandibles twitched, and to his annoyance, his nose, too. Dammit, how long will it take until I stop paying attention to my own damn face after this?! He had enough. He put his plate and glass on the tray, and rose from his chair. It was time to find something useful to do with what was left over from this day. With the retrieved data taken from them, their investigation had come to an untimely end. The doc had forbidden any visits to the gym for at least two more days, and as it made sense, Mojo had decided to listen to him.
"Hard to believe when you're chuckling." Arek had gulped down the rest of his coffee and hurried to stand up as well. "So, tell me. What mess did the great Mojo cause when he was tender 19 years old?"
"Wouldn't you like to know."
They returned their trays to the kitchen crew. Their table was occupied by new arrivals when they walked past it. The steady pulse of the mess rarely changed, the atmosphere was as lively and as filled with chatter as it had been when Mojo came here. The automatic door closed behind them once they left, and the sudden silence hit them like a wall. Mojo needed a few seconds to adjust to the ever present humming, and to distinguish it from single crew members walking down the corridors. The lights were brighter than inside the mess, where the gentle, yellow light resembled actual daylight. Sometimes, it was too easy to forget that the concept of day and night didn't matter on a space ship, and was only a helpful tool to keep live on board organized.
"So, any plans? Going back to sleep?" Arek was walking by his side, and stopped when they reached the turian's quarter. Mojo didn't have any place in particular in mind, so his steps had led him back here. There was nothing official to do for them today, except filling their reports, and that could wait until later. He didn't feel sleepy, or in the mood to go back to his bed and watch a movie or read, now that he was up and fed.
"Nah. Guess I'll practice some shooting." He shrugged. There wasn't much else to do for him, and handling his rifle was as relaxing to his mind as an hour of good sleep to his body. He looked down at the human. Arek was thinking of an answer, with his head crooked, a slight frown on his face.
"Mind you, Turner, while you are in desperate need of more practice, there's no reason for you to come with me. We're not friends. Go and enjoy your free time with your playmates." His shoulders dropped with the last words spoken. Arek's eyes turned sad, and a shadow of defeat fell over his face. He didn't like that. When Arek was his cheerful self, he could sneer at him, if he was angry, they could have a fight. He didn't know what to make of this kind of expression.
"Say whatever you want to say," Mojo sighed, giving up to find the right thing to say. He could have gone away, and leave him standing where he was, but that hadn't come to his mind until now, and now was too late.
"Why do you fight the idea of us becoming friends?" Arek looked up at him, facing him with grim stubbornness. There, that was more to Mojo's liking. Arek took a deep breath and continued, "See, we thought the worst of each other, and figured we were stupid. All I say is, let's start over, and well, if we still can't stand each other, fine. But I really want to see if we can get along. What's so bad about that?"
That one likes, the other dislikes, ever thought about that? No, that wasn't the problem, that was all wrong. Mojo admitted that, with his former misconception gone, he could see why Arek had many friends, and certain kind of friends for certain benefits. There were a few things about humans that he liked, even favored over his own species, some physical features to be precise - he aborted the thought.
"Nothing, probably. Just don't force it." If he considered a friendship because he appreciated a few superficial aspects, his moral standards wouldn't be any better than Arek's. The bottom line was, this human was still loud, still annoying, and flippant as a butterfly. If he wanted to he probably could find something likable about him, but he didn't see a reason why. The way he was, the way Arek was, a friendship wouldn't work, and trying was a waste of time.
"Guess you're right. And yeah, gotta say, I'm really not in the mood to waste a free day at the shooting range," Arek laughed, the frown was gone, as was the hint of sadness. "Lunch, later?"
"If we happen to be there at the same time, sure." See, just as I thought. Back to all happy and sunshine within seconds. Butterfly. Well, as long as he wasn't forced to organize his free time around Arek, it wouldn't hurt when he didn't go out of his way to avoid him if their paths crossed. For now, Arek seemed satisfied - he smiled, nodded, and most importantly - he was willing to leave Mojo alone and to return to his own quarter. Mojo looked after him for a moment. So this human wasn't the enemy he had thought him to be. Also, he wasn't his friend, or someone who was cut to be the kind of friend Mojo liked to have around. Or the kind of guy who would voluntarily endure Mojo the way he was. He growled in frustration over himself, he was putting more attention into this whole thing than it was worth, and who put attention into something, noticed things.
"Turner."
Arek stopped, turning around with a puzzled face.
"You're limping, more than yesterday."
"I do?" He looked down, stretching one leg, and patted his upper leg. "That one dragoon got me there, guess the scratch will need another day to heal." He forced the flinch away with a grin and shrugged the matter off.
"Didn't the doc check it?"
"Nope. He was busy with you, then Rani, then Crusher called and after that, my bed. Thought it's the best if I just leave it alone."
Mojo rolled his eyes, and gestured him to come back. Not less puzzled, Arek walked back to the turian. He tried to conceal the pain in his legs, but Mojo didn't miss how Arek pressed his lips together as he moved.
"And now?"
Mojo didn't answer. He knelt down, and his hands clenched around Arek's upper legs, giving them a hearty squeeze. Arek cried out, jumping back.
"Are you out of your mind?!"
"Too firm, too warm. Go to the doc before the infection eats your flesh away." Mojo stood up, turned around, and opened the door to his quarter. It was time that he got his Viper and finally did some shooting.
"You're worrying," Arek stated behind him; Mojo didn't have to look at him to know he was grinning.
"You're useless when you can't bounce around in combat, that's all." He hurried inside and closed the door behind him. He didn't want to hear an answer, or to go through the endless cycle of dodging assumptions that provoked new assumptions again.
"Wasn't that Arek?" Barat was sitting at the table in the middle of the room. He had dismantled his rifle, a Widow. The parts were scattered on the table, around his resting feet. Three or four were lying on his lap. He was lazily cleaning another one with a soft cloth.
Mojo gave a grunt in place of a reply and headed for his locker. He stretched, opened it, looked thoughtfully inside. If he returned to the corridor too soon, he feared he'd run again into Arek. He glanced at the door, half expecting it to open and Arek following him.
"You should've invited him inside," Barat whistled, looking through a part of the barrel. "I'd have been delighted to share a conversation with him. What a puzzle, that you can't see what a charming young man he is. And his hair, such a pretty color."
"It's red. That's all." A pretty, rich red he hadn't seen before, and Barat was going on his nerves with his infatuation. "Why don't you- forget it." Mojo held his tongue. Asking Barat to tell him once he figured out if red hair felt different to touch than dark or blond hair would rise unwanted questions. He grabbed his Viper and stomped out of the room, and finally down to the shooting range - the obviously only place left on this damn ship where he wouldn't be confronted with Arek, or people talking about him.