Happy Birthday: Zaylus

Dragging his tired legs up the last of the steps, Zaylus crosses the narrow hall to his apartment door. He pushes in the door lock and heads inside. Most of the mess has been corralled into one corner of the kitchen, which presently shakes with tiny movements.

He makes a soft whistling sound as he locks the door behind him, setting his sidearm on the counter top as he crosses into the kitchen.

Out of the center of the garbage pile comes a series of small, inquisitive squeaks, punctuated finally by the emergence of a tiny brown snout from under the trash. Then the whole of the small rodent comes wriggling out of her nest, bobbing her little head and squeaking more directly at the turian standing above.

"Hello, you little menace." He greets quietly, stooping down to offer his palm to the small creature.

The ball of fur gives a cursory sniff before waggling her entire body in to the palm of his hand.

Zaylus lifts the creature as he stands up straight again, using the curved back of one talon to brush the tufted fur of his little friend's ears. She chitters her delight as he sets her down gently on the counter, investigating the surface with gusto as he steps back to undo the seals of his armor.

As he deposits the pieces in their place next to the couch, he absently narrates the happenings of his night out to the indifferent rodent.

"He seemed just as out of it as the rest of us. The Alliance is gonna come take the action footage and leave us to keep scratching our heads and nursing our wounds." He growls to himself, tossing himself down on the couch with a frustrated grunt.

"At least..." He trails, his gaze fixing as he pulls down that sticky note in his mind.

Pushing back onto his feet, he crosses silently to the counter and after a moment of thought, plucks the business card from the glass there. Menace watches him with tiny, curious eyes as he scrapes up a pen from the miscellaneous items there, and carefully writes a note somewhere in the margin.

He takes a moment to appreciate his handiwork, tucking it respectfully back into its place before going to ready himself for another night lingering around that hospital room.

Menace watches him go, and scurries over to the glass to sniff the fresh ink on that special paper.

'Ryan Bennett. Spirits keep him.'