Trish poked and prodded at her food, before finally taking a bite of the "meat". It wasn't great, but it wasn't bad either, certainly better than expected. And she was starving. So she began eating a bit more rapidly than one might assume, not rudely so, just a bit quicker. Pausing for a moment as the conversation moved along, [color=fff200][i][b]"It's better than prison slop or the DA's protein rations."[/b][/i][/color] 

Trish didn't know if the ship had a proper name, though she assumed it did. All ships had names. She hadn't taken the time to look at the hull nor the digital manifest at the door. As for giving anything they found to the mechanic, well, after Trish scoured for parts for her own work. 

A small spike of pain dashed through her injured hand, and she dropped her fork, uttering a bit of a curse in a language she didn't know the name of, a habit from the days with her father. She flexed her hand painfully, inspecting to make sure it was still holding together. Satisfied enough, she resumed eating and listening to the conversation at hand, not really feeling the need to chime in more.