Despite his shaking and sweating, Ilya saw a cold anger flare up in the human's eyes when she drew near, and that interested her more than the expensive clothes and fine features. Was it contempt she saw? Disgust? Or perhaps hatred? Most likely a mix of them all. As a pirate and a mutt with the muddiest blood of anyone she'd met in the galaxy, she was used to seeing that look in the eyes of most people she met. Especially the purebreds, who mostly preferred to pretend she wasn't there and absently pat their pockets on the rare occasion she encountered more than one of them at a time. She didn't understand it, and long ago she'd learned not to dwell on it. Their loss. She expected the one in front of her to bolt, or faint, or do something rash and reckless, the way humans always did. She did not expect those dark, angry eyes to drop as the human actually fell to his knees before her and proceeded to beg for his life.

She listened, eyebrows climbing higher on her face, until he was finished. Poor Renfred, piloting a vessel with this idiot on board must have been a nightmare. "Boring," she said, "At least I know Renfred knows how to pilot a ship and order other people to do his bidding. You're just a soft human boy." She lowered her sword until the blade rested against the collar of his uniform. The threads split as the softest touch and began to smell burnt as the heat of the obsidian-edged blade slowly melted them. 

"Convince me," Ilya purred.