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[indent][indent][indent][color=gray][sub][right][color=FF7CB6][b]Location:[/b][/color] Corridor Pathways, Fortuna [color=FF7CB6][b]|[/b][/color] In Transit[/right][/sub][/color]
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[color=FF7CB6]“Fuck! Fuck. Fuck! Stupid piece of shit.”[/color] Maerve Puckett howled as she looked up at the ceiling in irritation, pressing her elbows on the workbench in the Fortuna’s weapons armory.

The pink-haired girl had a reputation on the Fortuna ever since she joined their band of merry men cruising the galaxy for the next great paycheck. She hadn’t missed Luon Prime much, given the distaste she had for anything that reminded her of her parents. Her mother had passed away from stress when she was nineteen and her father got killed like tin stars tended to get killed when she was a kid. There really wasn’t anything back there and she was happy to commit to the Fortuna long term. The Fortuna perhaps wondered if they should’ve taken her at all as a member of their crew. There was two modes with Maeve as far as people could tell: angry and [b][i]angry[/i][/b]. She swore worse than anyone else on the crew, constantly yelled and annoyingly complained, and threatened inanimate objects as much as she threatened animate ones.

A good pilot. A good gunner. Just difficult.

Currently she was trying to modify a Tiberius King 17-B5, one of her go-to weapons, a rifle that used a particle ionizer to create blasts of thermal heat. Problem was, [i]her[/i] Tiberius King 17-B5 was on the fritz and not firing reliably so she did what anybody else would do and took it to the armor and grabbed a toolkit and got to work fixing the problem. While being no gunsmith herself, Maeve still knew how to tend, fix, and modify her standard equipment. It just so happened that the ionizer and some of the other parts of the gun wasn’t agreeing with her and it was making her very upset; what some would call a 6 out of 10 for Maeve’s threshold for being mad. There was a chart on the wall with a spinning wheel in the barracks just for making fun of her anger threshold.

She sighed, running her hands through her shoulder length hair as she looked back down and grabbed another tool and started messing with the gun again. [color=FF7CB6]“C’mon, fuckin’ waster junk…”[/color]

And then the ionizer crackled and a large spark of electricity spun at her.

[color=FF7CB6]“Fuck you!”[/color]

The words roared through the armory and into the halls beside them, as she continued to ardently fix her rifle, including not getting hurt by any of the malfunctions with said rifle. It was going to be a minute before she forced it the firearm to listen to her.
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