"Got it in one, buddy." It may not be a question, but she answers anyway - never pass up an opportunity to make someone feel a little foolish. It's a cheap shot on her part, but there's something about that pomp and circumstance in the set of his shoulders that puts her off. She's never been much for politicians and Emperors seem like they could be the worst subspecies of that.

"Shepard." She sets off, leading with her shoulders and the lifted angle of her chin. The deck is cold on her bare feet, the air stale from what she can only imagine is a side effect from the jump itself. The procession to the showers is mostly orderly, punctuated by the occasional wayward looking fresh meat. By the looks of it, most of them have glommed onto a 'veteran' in much the same way as Lysander. Any port in a storm, right?

"So. Emperor, huh?" It's an abrupt sort of question, less small talk and more simple nosiness. Still: suddenly finding yourself anywhere, nevermind suddenly finding yourself on a strange ship in the middle of unknown space, can be unsettling. Might as well stick to something familiar if only because babysitting someone through an existential crisis isn't really her thing.