Now talking in #High_Shee_Drama
The sounds of metallic tools echo down a small corridor that branches off into one of the limbs of the shee starship "Planci" . A few quiet curses flitter along after them.
Crafty: "I thought I'd... hnph."
There's a clattering sound as a hundred tiny bolts hit the floor, a few rolling across the metallic panels of the hub area.
Another curse bounces off the walls.
The source of the swears breathes out in annoyance, crouching down and plucking the bolts off of the ground one by one and placing them back in a large toolbox.
Aside from a few mutters, the lady shee remains quiet after that, brushing her white head fur back every now and again as individual strands try to escape from her ponytail.
A tail - likely a spliced trait, seeing as shee don't have them naturally - assists in the arduous task, wrapping forward and rhythmically picking up and dropping what she'd spilled with an oddly structured, four-fingered hand.
A few minutes pass before she's finished cleaning up the mess in her vicinity, so she stands and moves further down the hallway, doing the same thing. She repeats this until all of the bolts (or at least most of them) are safely back in their container. It's only after the task is complete that the lady shee stands up straight, rolls her shoulders to crack them, and paces onwards towards the control deck.
Crafty: "So, Planci... what's going on in terms of this whole damage situation? Is there anything else that seems on the fritz?"
An uppity computerized voice responds to hers in turn.
"What do you mean 'Is there anything else'? Everything is 'on the fritz'! -Everything-!"
The shee frowns, pressing her fingers into her brow and massaging it in circles.
Crafty: "If you're going to go into another tirade about how I apparently ruined your existence, I'm not going to feed it."
The ship's AI broadcasts an exasperated noise out of the nearest surround sound speaker to her. She narrows her eyes in response.
"I -really- wish you would -actually- take me seriously!" Planci complains. "I am -not- going on a tirade!"
Crafty: "Then what are you going on about?"
"How terrible my situation is!"
Crafty: "All right... All right. If your situation is as bad as you think it is, give me a status report," the increasingly irate shee responds.
"Gladly, harumph!" There's a dial tone and then a distinct series of chimes as The Planci's systems process her request... or is it actually taking time to think?
After a short time, the ship's AI pipes up again to read off its findings.
stormborns
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