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In a room left alone thanks to terror and paranoia, in an uncomfortable and cramped part of the ship, the only non-human member of the crew lay, her feet up above her head, and a lho stick in her mouth. She would reach across her dirty and worn metal desk to take her electric lighter out of its charging port, place it to her lip, and then squeeze down the button that would cause a tiny superhead jet of flame to arc out, igniting the end of the white stick in an instant.

Inhaling deeply, she would turn, her stomach letting out a grumble. As a mercenary, her single and only duty aboard the ship was to stride through the flames of kavaal, and until time came that she needed to risk her life, it was, she had had made clear to her, not only expected, but fully [i]preferred[/i] that she did as little as possible and [i]especially[/i] didn't show herself to the rest of the crew. Stil, she was a warrior of the fire caste, and until such a day as these useless gue'las delivered her food to her door, she would need to venture out to mess.

Her hooves clopped against the metal floor of her room as she stepped outside. Leaking smoke as she walked, she followed the protocol she usually did- gaze in front of her, don't look to the left or right, don't meet the gazes of the imbeciles that had hired her. Reaching the mess hall, she would get her slop quickly and sequester herself in the corner, eating it slowly. She wanted to do something. Too long aboard this ship, hidden in her room. She needed a shakeup, something to make her decision to abandon her peoples worth more than just her freedom.