Phone; June 9th Evening

[keephimtalking]

Good news everyone: negotiations went through and Weaver's is now going to officially start selling drinks over forty proof.

[ Hey, Eliot. Heyyyy, Eliot. You're totally getting side-eyed over the phone here, somehow. Hope you enjoy this weird new form of communication. ]

In... celebration of this wonderful new landmark, drinks'll be half off tomorrow night. Drop by and get yourself drunk ten times faster than usual. Try to limit any vomiting to the bathroom.

[ Please, someone, hire this guy as your publicist, he's just so enthusiastic. ]

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[keephimtalking]

[ You can almost hear Lantar blushing over the phone from the sheer force of it.

Why does this keep happening now? Why do these humans keep trying to flirt with him? This interspecies madness needs to stop, man. ]

R-right, well, you can have your forty proof tomorrow.

[ It's simultaneously flustered and rather peeved. ]

[ishotyouuu]

[There's at least one human Spectre out there somewhere who didn't get the memo.

Wade might not be able to see Lantar's reaction over the phone, but Wade knows that flustered tone of voice when he hears it. The guy sounds conspicuously caught off guard. It's kinda cute, actually, how easy it apparently is to get his goat. Wade doesn't bother to hide the smugness in his voice as he replies.]

I'll be dreamin' about your sweet, delicious ambrosia all night tonight then, champ.

...An' the drinks too, of course.

[WADE PLEASE.]

[keephimtalking]

[ Lantar is going to run screaming if they ever show up here, my god.

There's a second of scrabbling and claws as the Turian nearly drops his phone- fights with the impulse to just throw the damn thing out the window- and eventually he yanks it back up by the cord, upside down, and yells: ]

YOU'LL GET FUCKING HIVES.

[ A pause.

And then the line cuts with a meek, gentle little 'click'.

Wade doesn't get to see the brilliant shade of very indignant cobalt blue that Lantar's turned on the other end. ]