Gryzzk was highly concerned after his initial introduction to the dining area. Officially called the "Mess Hall", the area was in fact a mess. It seemed an area where chaos reigned - each table had its own music, conversation, and cadence. the only commonality was the food, a plate that was half of a foodstuff called rice, and the other was a promised sauce called curry. The food line was industrial in appearance, with trays being moved in one direction and disinterested Terrans in white clothes shoveling portions onto the tray with all the enthusiasm of a herd being led to slaughter. What they were placing on the tray had him filled with a level of anticipation that he had not expected. The smells were complex, the rice that came first seemed to have a sweetness about it, and then the curry sauce had a savory scent with some underlying tones of meat, unrecognizable things and what was probably several spices blended. There were also scents he couldn't identify but roused his curiosity. And hunger.

The conversation did briefly still as Gryzzk and Muranaga passed by, but then returned to its normal cadence and volume. Gryzzk was impressed by the efficiency of it all, making mental notes to take back to his lord once this dreary directive had been completed. He did note that the servers saw his size and reduced the portion on his tray to what they presumed would be a manageable size.

Muranaga nudged him gently. "Don't worry, you can come back for seconds if that's not enough. Thirds if you're a masochist."

Gryzzk canted his ears about to see what others in the mess hall had to say about it. They appeared to be enjoying it, despite the constant static in his ear of "Untranslatable. Presumed expletive". The others seemed to have various rank adornments somewhere on their person - one of them that he presumed to be female based on their hairstyle (dark red hair in a thick braid going to a point hidden by her chair) had her shirtsleeves rolled up to display her rank insignia tattooed on her arm. It was three angled lines pointed up, and three downward curves below, and between the two sets was a diamond shape. She seemed to sense she was being watched, and snapped her head around.

"What the 'untranslatable' you lookin' at..." and then her green colored eyes went wide. "PUPPY!" The exclamation startled Gryzzk and brought Muranagas' head around with a severe look that melted as soon as he saw who had said it. He gestured quietly and leaned intimately close to her. The green eyed woman nodded, winked at Muranaga, and promptly hopped up on the railing, keeping her balance easily. And she did what Gryzzk expected and yelled. Loudly enough to be heard over a rolling storm.

"Troop. At ease for an announcement. Lieutenant Muranaga advises me that we have a Vilantian guest aboard for this mission. Despite the resemblance, he is not a puppy. To reinforce this, the following policy now applies. We catch you being stupid and calling him, referring to him, or hinting he might be puppy: first offense - you owe me, the LT, and - " there was a pause while she leaned down to query Muranaga" - Gryzzk, each fifty pushups. For those of you who can't math, that's a hundred and fifty total. Second offense, a hundred for each of us. Third offense, you lose five percent of your share and bonuses for this mission, with that five percent going to Gryzzk. Spread the word, this will be reinforced at roll call tomorrow. You have until tomorrow morning to get your minds right. As you were." And with that, she hopped down from the railing and started performing pushups rapidly. The rest of the hall returned to its normal ebb and buzz of conversation as Gryzzk stood confused by the whole display. Finally Muranaga tugged at Gryzzks' sleeve to get him moving in the right direction - specifically the end of the chow line. After which, free seats at a table were found and hands put to good use working the food toward its proper destination.

Gryzzk watch as Muranaga mixed rice and sauce on the tray and then copied his movements. He was amazed as soon as the first mouthful hit with an explosion of textures dancing on his tongue, then a brief moment of calm until the storm of flavors hit and it was a joy to experience. He blinked. Blinked again. And then a third time sequentially.

Muranaga glanced over with concern writ large on his face as Gryzzk finally swallowed and looked back. "You all eat like this?"

Gryzzk received a nod. "Yeah, but it's not as good as the stuff back on Earth or the colonies. This is basically like, cloned wagyu beef, cloned vegetables, all that. I don't care what Cookie says, there's something about the nutrient bath they grow these in that changes the flavor somehow." Muranaga shrugged, while their tablemates were watching with anticipation.

Gryzzk froze for a moment, before realizing introductions were in order. He stood up and offered a hand, which was promptly waved away. "No need to be all formal and 'expletive' here, this the 'expletive' chow hall man. I'm Roberts, and the silent chow-inhaler over here is Laroy. You're Gryzzk, yeah?" After an affirmative, there was a longer watchful gaze.

Finally Muranaga flicked a grain of rice at Roberts. "Stare later."

Roberts broke out of his spell and nodded, turning his attention back to his food.

Muranaga spared Gryzzk a glance, who was plowing through the curry as if he'd never eaten anything of its like in his entire life. Gryzzk finished and looked back at the chow line, which had been much diminished in the time they'd taken to eat. There was a questioning look and nod in return, before Gryzzk went back for seconds. The cooks gave him a little more the second go-round and it was again eaten in rapid fashion. After the second helping, Gryzzk leaned back with a sigh of happiness. His tablemates were glancing at each other and then Muranaga, who shrugged. It was Laroy who finally spoke, with an accent that sounded somehow different - more round, if sound had a shape.

"S'yall ain't got no curry back home dere?" Laroy cocked his head slightly.

Gryzzk shook his head. "We don't have anything like this. It's lovely."

"Hoooo..." Laroy seemed to pick up a smile on his face. "Le'ten't I wan' take this man home an' let him try Mamaw Thibedeaux dirty rice, please? Maybe even catfish courtbouillon - that'd be a thing for Sunday though." He seemed to drift inward mentally for a moment.

Muranaga shook his head. "Laroy, we're not doing any of that just yet. Work, then play."

Laroy nodded his assent with an easy grin as Gryzzk and Muranaga left the table, placing their empty trays in the cleaning slot.

As soon as they left the mess hall, Gryzzk cleared his throat slightly. "I have several questions, if you have time."

Muranaga smirked, leaning against the wall for a moment to brush his rank insignia. "Go for it."

"The tradition of curry. Where did this dish come from and why is it special for a day?" Gryzzk paused to allow his companion to catch up.

"So back in the day, Earth had a bunch of separate governments that administered a territory called nations. One of those nations was called Japan, and centuries ago communications and time-keeping weren't as good. That meant sailors would lose track of time and their efficiency would decrease as they wondered how long it would be until they made port. So to help the sailors track the passage of days, every seventh day the Japanese ships' mess would serve curry. Each ship had its own secret recipe because curry can use a lot of different things in it and still be curry. After awhile the tradition spread to space and here we are. When we're out and about, we'll have a lot of rice because it's easy to make, packs down pretty good for storage, and it's filling."

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"And those other foods that Laroy was talking about? They are not curry."

"Laroy's kind of an odd one - he's actually an Earthborn, from an area called Louisiana. Unlike most Earthborn, he's not a criminal - according to him, he just got to wandering one day and found the spaceport and signed on for a hitch, stopped off at Homeplate, got off and signed on with us. They tend to odd language and really spicy food. "

There was a blink. "You take criminals? Lawbreakers?"

A shrug was his reply. "Yeah. Most of the time it's a court sentence, but sometimes someone'll burn their creds for a new ident card and join up to try disappearing. It never works out in the end - the system finds 'em, tracks 'em, and then depending on how they've done versus what they've done, our Legal team has the option of stepping in and convincing the court to basically backdate their sentencing or just turn 'em over if it's bad enough."

There was a lot of blinking, rapidly as Gryzzk processed this. "They abandon close-clan, and clan. On purpose? Forgive me, but on Vilantia that is tantamount to death. The lord of the Clan would take your deeds and assign them to another for the Name Records. A clanless soul with no deeds and no name has no home, it doesn't die but cannot live, and so they would wander the twilight forever searching for a name, a deed, or home. Even the worst criminals would be hard-pressed with such a choice." They entered their quarters as Gryzzk shook off the thought with a shudder and covered his concern with a smile. "Or at least that's what mother would say."

Muranaga graciously followed the unspoken request to change the subject. "You said you had other questions, right?"

Gryzzk nodded. "Yes, the, ah...woman. Why did she have that, the" he pointed to his arm "decoration on her skin?"

There was a soft chuckle. "That was her rank insignia. She's a noncommissioned officer. First Sergeant Brooks, if you meet her formally. She got it tattoo'ed on when she made rank."

"Why were you not...loud, with her?"

"Whaddya mean loud?"

"As she was. You are a commissioned officer and therefore you outrank her, yes? But you spoke to her with a deference, almost? This goes against the Clan way, and you are a clan, of sorts."

There was a chuckle. "Top's been a member of this company since I was in diapers. Technically, it's true I outrank her. But compared to her experience, I'm still very, very...very new. If I'd yelled at her in that situation, she'd nod, do her pushups, and then walk over to the Major and then have a chat with him. And about five minutes after that I'd be standing in front of the Major while he yelled at me for undermining Top, and my next weeks' duty roster would be changed to be a supervisor and participant in the nastiest, greasiest punishment jobs this ship has to offer."

"But...why?"

There was a pause. "You have to learn to lead. Or at least Terrans do. Despite me being your guide, I'm still learning. I have the smallest group possible, and a lot of my time is spent in learning to manage larger groups. The noncommissioned officers are guides for the commissioned officers." Muranaga shrugged. "It's...our Clan Way, if that makes sense."

Gryzzk nodded. "You Clan ways are odd. You use expletives a great deal, where we would not. And your expletives are untranslatable."

Muranaga blinked. "You're 'expletive'-ing me, right?"

Gryzzk shook his head. "I am not. The translator I was given is for formal occasions, and such language is removed automatically."

Muranaga turned to leave their quarters. "C'mon."

Gryzzk followed curiously. "What are we doing?"

"We're going to check and see if we can get your translator to correctly pick up 'expletive string'."

Gryzzk followed, curious about a few subjects. "Does this tattooing hurt?"

"Yeah. But not as much as it used to. Ancient times, they'd take thin needles made of bone, dip it in inks and and then pierce the skin to let the ink seep under the skin. Time went on, and new methods were invented, but the overall principle's the same."

"Terrans deliberately harm themselves for decoration?"

"I suppose you could think of it that way, but at the same time it's a relatively small amount of hurt for something that lasts forever."

There was a pause as Gryzzk's new question came to mind. "Do...you have a tattoo?"

Muranaga nodded. "Yep." He slapped his right thigh. "Koi fish, right here."

"Is it a symbol of your rank?"

There was a chuckle. "Nah. Ancient legend says a koi fish swam all the way to the headwaters of a river that was pretty long. Like just under a fifth of the planets' circumference. The gods were so amazed and surprised that they turned the koi fish into a dragon - big mighty powerful creature. Basically it was a parable about the good things that happen if you just keep swimmin, swimmin, swimmin."

Gryzzks' brows furrowed in thought. "There is a deeper story to this?"

Another soft chuckle was Muranagas' reply. "Yep. But not for now. Maybe later back at Homeplate if there's time." Muranaga knocked on a door, brushing something off of his insignia. "Let's go see Sparks."

The office of Lieutenant 'Sparks' Richardson was an explosion of electronics, wires, repair tools, and diagnostic equipment. directly behind and above his head was a contraption Gryzzk had never seen, with a crank, coils of wires, and a keypress. The were several other items he couldn't readily identify, but the whole affair seemed terribly clumsy. The scent of the room was on the surface like the main hallways, all metals and plastics, but here it was a different mixture, along with oils and solvents. A nameplate on the desk bore the name "1LT Richardson", which did not resemble Sparks in any way.

Richardsons' voice knifed through the air - a higher timbre, Gryzzk noted. "Oneshot. Why you bringing, uhm, Gryzzk here?"

A gentle shrug was the reply. "Seems like Gryzzks' translator package can't handle folks with a pottymouth. Cuts out and slows comprehension. Anything you can do about it?"

Sparks pursed his lips. "Well...maybe. Lemme see it." After a moment, Gryzzk took his translator off and handed it over. Without the translator, he felt surprisingly defenseless - and their language seemed incomprehensible in several ways, but at the same time there seemed to be an ebb and flow to it. Where the Vilantians relied on scent, he noticed Terrans (or at least these two seemed to express themselves with their hands, which seemed tremendously inefficient, particularly compared to scent. The two men growled, grumbled, and then finally Richardson bent to work, making a small adjustment with a tool before handing the translator back to Gryzzk.

Once it was back on, things became comprehensible again. "Okay Gryzzk, here's the deal. I can't fix it completely, but I made it so that instead of the warning you'll just get a warning buzz. I can change it so that it fully translates, but not here. Sorry."

Gryzzk nodded his assent. "Of course, uhm...Sparks."

Sparks sensed the question coming. "So a very long time ago, Terrans invented a radio transmitter that used an electrical spark to transmit. I've always been kinda interested in antiques, tinkering, stuff like that. And then we were making planetfall on a job to help repair a comm relay on Alchiba IX-a, and all our everything went to [bzz] in two shakes 'a lamb's tail. Turns out the Hurdops were there trying to claim the comm relay as salvage, and they didn't take kindly to us wanting to fix it. First warning was when the comms were jammed, second warning was someone shot all the missiles at us. Our shuttles' wrecked, and then as a last ditch thing we mighta sorta used their shuttle and whatever crew they had as a landing pad. Messy business, but then we kinda boiled out and sent them off to the sunset. Then we got to assessing. We had about twelve hours of life support from our suits, and we were supposed to onsite for thirty-six - and then we'd be declared overdue about three hours later. So, the rest of the team got to work trying to bring life support back from the dead, and they got me rolling on a comms solution. We didn't have nothing, but then I kinda pieced together a spark radio and starting popping out the SOS thing. Six hours of that later, another shuttle lands with a fresh crew and supplies so we can do the job and get our happy selves home. I got chewed on for causing a local comm blackout, and then I got a double share and a hazard bonus for quick thinking and being able to make something out of nothing. Captain gave me a shot of real Irish whiskey for it too. Which was awesome, but ruined my tongue for any local stuff, so now I gotta stick to rum for drinking."

Gryzzk seemed in awe. "But, why would you want to know about things that...but. There's no sense to it."

Sparks shrugged. "Figure maybe I got an angel riding my shoulder. Or maybe a team."

There was a nod. "I think I understand. We should - " there was a rumble from Gryzzyks' midsection.

Muranaga chuffed softly. "Curry's kickin' in Sparks. We'll see you when we see you. C'mon Gryzzyk, we're gonna head to the bunk for a bit."

The pair hurried, with Gryzzk making some distressed noises all the way until they got in. Then he hurried to the latrine and felt blissful relief. And then pain. After several minutes, he poked his head out. "I'm sorry, Muranaga. This is not normal."

Muranaga waved a hand. "No worry. Cookie once told me 'It ain't real curry unless it burns going in and out'."

Gryzzk was not religious, but he hoped that the gods long gone would send him mercy if this was the norm for the food he was to eat.