Scene: 2186, Omega. Aria tries to keep it impersonal.


Nyreen isn't the turian who left her three years ago, that's for certain. With a new set of markings and armor, she runs an entire mercenary group (no matter how ragtag they look) against the human terrorist organization threatening to dismantle Omega's very foundation and way of life. Startled, Aria watches Nyreen direct these operations with courage and efficiency, and quickly catches on. There's passion behind those eyes and fire in that voice now. A quad or two as well, if the snarky asides and bold-faced confrontations in her bunker are anything to go by. She wouldn't have dared then, but things are different. They're different.

The change in circumstances thus necessitates a shift within the parameters of their temporary alliance. Dialogues are to be kept strictly business. Professional. And as with any set of solid guidelines, they get undermined by the number of times—more often than not—that they fall back on old patterns anyway. A throwaway line here, a coy allusion there—murmured references to memories both good and bad that do nothing to help Aria focus on the situation at hand. Thing is, it's almost too easy, slipping into their once-familiar roles like a dearly loved pair of pants, the fabric thinned and fraying from over-wear, but so soft to touch. Or maybe, if Aria's honest with herself, it's more of a bad habit (one of many) that she can't shake. She'd ask Nyreen which simile she'd choose, but that would be breaking the unspoken rules of their engagement. Again.

Nyreen tries hard to draw the line between then and now though, which tempts Aria even more to smudge it while the turian's back is turned. Her reaction afterwards—that dry flick of her mandible as she draws another boundary to be crossed—is telling enough.