[img]https://i.imgur.com/guo9eaW.png[/img]

There was always somethin' about feelin' fresh after a shower - even a space-shower, meaning recycled filtered water that did no good on thinkin' about where'd come. Penelope had contentedly sighed as she stepped out the stall, then towel-patted herself down. Her mind turned to Sam. Most folk wouldn't feel to easy knowin' there was an sentient piece of tech or just how connected into the ship that they were flyin' through space in. She wondered as she dressed then padded back through the ship to her quarters at any reactions, planned any preemptive measures of the more negative ones, and who all knew 'sides her and the captain. 

The chaos that was erupting from the galley as she reemerged from her bunk with her satchel threw her. It seemed like some sorta ruckus was being had in the galley just down the hall. A small smile appeared - sounded like Hook might have his hands full with whatever was happening in there. [i]Best leave him to it.[/i]

Besides, as her eyes turned to the flight deck, she had her own charge. As she sat down in the pilot's seat - [i]her[/i] seat, at present anyway - Penelope undid her bound damp hair and asked aloud: "Sounds like a party is going on in the galley. Anythin' that excitin' happenin' for us up here?"

The clicks and whirs that Penelope had become accustomed to slowed while the pilot begun braiding her hair to the side - carefully picking out orange strands so they were in one ground together. "If by exciting you mean level of noise, our decibel frequency has not yet met that in the galley, so no. Not at present."

After a few clicks, Sam added: "I can play-back the same frequency if you'd like."

"That almost sounds like a joke." The pilot smiled as she tied off her hair at her shoulder. Her new pull-over top was that thin polyester material, so it wouldn't soak through. She comfortably folded her spandex-covered legs under her as she leaned to look over the console before settling in. "That sort of music ain't my taste for casual listenin'. More in place at a rave club or thrash hall in one of them big cities."

It was said without the tone of judgement, just gentle matter-of-fact. There couldn't be actual silence, not with the 'party' going on, but a little time passed as Penelope did passive checks. Just as she leaned back, Sam spoke up again. "My data processor lists many different 'sorts of music.' Are only some music types enjoyable in certain locations?"

"Hmm… well, reckon since there is a ruckus in the galley, I can't rightly say that's the case." Penelope chuckled a little as she withdrew her little macramé project she'd started the previous night from her satchel. As she sat the various bottles of babbles along the front of Sam's box, she added: "Just like there is all sorts of music, there is all sorts of folk who enjoy, in all sorts of ways, in all sorts of places."

"Places such as the 'rave club' and 'thrash hall'?" Sam asked as Penelope popped a plastic top off one of the bottles to withdraw a bead for threading. 

"Yep, those are places for dancing - ya know, flailing around with rhythm sort of dancing. Like flowin' with the beat." Her fingers began their weaving as the bead was pulled into its place. "There's all sorts of dancin', too. Ta match the music."

It came natural, somehow. Maybe like the causal way Penelope approached everything, talking with an artificial being just was another thing. It was nice, she thought, having someone to talk to instead of being all by her lonesome like she was accustomed to when on a job. Though, she didn't quite think this crew would be the sort to stay squirreled away like her last one. And, the idea was real nice.