The last Prothean wasn't sure what to make of Commander Shepard thus far. They were steadfast, determined, and had the spirit of a leader... but they also had a rather informal approach to the act of vanquishing the Reapers once and for all, which was... fascinating. He couldn't comprehend how their species was able to locate one of his people's beacons and just ignore it, even if its message was rather vague.

Still, the precautions were there, and now this cycle was about to experience the atrocities he'd seen in his own cycle, ones that led him to awaken fifty thousand years later from stasis. It was all confusing. Very confusing. And the incessant questions the asari, Liara, had for him didn't help much.

Sometimes, he truly wished her people hadn't learned to speak. Or write.

There was a lot he had to learn about the various species that had grown throughout the galaxy. The fact that the lizard people - salarians, they called them now - had evolved had been a surprise, for one. But Javik had more important things to worry about, such as washing his hands in the makeshift basin in his quarters.

These quarters aboard the Normandy held many memories, ones that awakened many a spark in the Prothean's brain of those who walked through it, such as the tank-bred krogan he envisioned in his synapses. Every touch he laid upon these surfaces only served to flood his mind more, and he didn't want any residue to remain. As long as he had his solace, he was content.

So, naturally, when he heard the door to his quarters open, both sets of eyes closed in exasperation. Who was bothering him now?

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a crewperson he did not recognize. They were defenseless, which was foolish. But clearly they did have a role aboard this ship, otherwise they wouldn't be here.

Still, Javik huffed. "What is it you seek here, primitive? Did the Commander send you? Tell them they can come to me themself rather than send fodder. Whatever your business may be, make it quick. I was savoring the silence."