Milenya stood her ground as best she could. Difficult, the old Turian was intense, forceful.<br/><br/>She tried to ignore the warmth in her belly that the confrontation had lit. She hadn't intended to trigger this, or to feel this way, but the man was compelling her attention now.<br/><br/>He clarified things for her. Stated who he definitely did not trust, which ones he saw were in it entirely for the credits. And that too put another piece of the puzzle in place. He didn't trust anyone aboard the ship completely, and perhaps her instincts that first day were correct.<br/><br/>And he'd warned her off, forcefully but not with force. A curious kindness, offered... offered because she wasn't a pirate. A mercenary. Offered because she didn't belong, didn't quite fit with what the Acheron had become since, apparently, leaving the Turian military proper.<br/><br/>Her breath caught when he turned from her and moved back to resume his seat.<br/><br/>And what was the Acheron? Turian ship-names evoked spirits of myth in the hope that the spirit would express itself. She was keying her omnitool as he spoke, Dr. Beruut tending to his arm.<br/><br/>The information she read was a little surprising. "Acheron" was human in origin, though there were links to analogues in Turian myth.<span style="color: #6495ED">"A place for the damned. For souls on the way to the afterlife, cleansed by the journey. The 'river of woe' in human myth, but also where souls are renewed. Exiles, perhaps, wandering the borders. Or perhaps I am, as you say, looking to the horizon."</span><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>