Making A Mistake

The hunched, obese batarian grumbled as he saw the ship docked outside the observation window, watching all the cattle crowd around to marvel.  Used to be, the arrival at the Normandy at Omega was a cause for celebration for him.  One of his biggest clients would stop in every time they were in port, ready to partake of his services.  But the last few times she hadn't shown her face.  He supposed it made sense; there was only so much space to work with, after all.  But still, she'd been quite an interesting subject, and had been more than willing to accept "alternate" payment options from time to time.  God, when he thought about that human bitch's mouth around his...



"Excuse me?" said a voice behind him, and he jumped in surprise.  In front of him was a human, dressed in a black bodysuit, hood obscuring her face.  "Are you Cholem?"



"Yeah, that's me," Cholem grunted.  His eyes immediately locked on the Tactical Cloak device on her waist and he frowned.  "You're looking to steal something, you sure picked the wrong place."



"No, I'm not.  A friend of mine recommended your services."



"A friend?  You don't look like the type to have friends here in Omega, you don't mind me saying."



"Not here... she's on the Normandy."  The woman smiled sheepishly.  "I can't believe I'm doing this, but for some reason, I feel like getting a tattoo."



A wide grin crossed Cholem's face as he retrieved the necessary tools.  Somehow, he had a feeling business was about to pick up.