"Very well, Ambassador-" Commander Xepard turned to leave, until he noticed the human Ambassador rising. A hand was proffered to him. A batarian tradition.
Xepard slowly, his eyes focusing on the Ambassador's, took the hand into his own. Stared past the Ambassador, to the datapads on his desk- for only a moment before the Ambassador spoke again, and placed himself between Xepard and his work.
"An old human tradition, if you'd pardon me. I'm somewhat sentimental for the past," The Ambassador smiled then, unhealthy white shining from between red lips, "I heard your people had a similar tradition, and decided to indulge."
"Yes, we do. A moment of trust, allowing us both a set of eyes to share security in all directions."
"Really? Ours was to make sure the other didn't have a weapon in hand to kill us with," The Ambassador shrugged, as he sat down, and turned his chair away, "I suppose that's something in common. Both useless in this day and age, eh? Thank you, Commander Xepard. I'm sure there's much a spectre needs doing."
"Those humans give me chills," Whispered Tali as they exited the presidium embassies.
"He's just a politician. They're all like that," reassured Wrex, "If it weren't for people like them, people like me would be out of a job."
"I don't know if he's any ordinary politician," Commander Xepard turned then, to stare back at the embassies, "The Prothean beacon, back on Tumaat Prime-" Xepard brought a hand up to his head then, thinking, trying to gain control of the elusive alien memory crawling in his skull.
"What is it Xepard?"
"...Nothing," Xepard frowned, shaking his suspicions. Shouldn't humans breathe? And weren't they warmblooded?
At least he had worn gloves when he shook the thing's hands.
"C'mon. The Council's waiting."