Finally. This is much closer to how a ship should sound. 

The waves of thousands of slow breathes washes over the corridor and wipes away the sloshing of Bella's feet as she picks her way back out of the shallows. Soon, her bare soles touch dry flooring again and even as the meditation of the Tides recedes behind her there is a deep and abiding sense of calm in place of the frantic, tapping echoes of her footsteps that hounded her all the way down here in the first place. 

She pauses to take in the echoes. Her hands clench into fists faster than she can pry them apart. She scratches at her scars violently enough to tear holes in the back of her dress. Her tail flicks water every which way as it lashes about like a whip. Teeth bared for the world. She can feel her body growing hotter as the urge to murder something builds inside of her. This at least has the effect of drying her dress out, not that she especially notices or cares. She drags her claws along the edge of a wall, leaving the deep gouges that have so often marked her terrible moods out here in space. She stares at them for a long time. The distant sounds of the Tides' deep breathing still follow her. Bella snarls. 

Her steps fall faster now. She stomps on the floor without consideration for who might hear her, all thoughts of avoiding people forgotten for the moment. Fuck them. It's not even funny anymore. If this is how this ship is run, then everybody on it deserves what's going to happen. Bastards. Fucking bastards. She's sprinting now. Hundreds of empty corridors in varying states of disrepair watch her pass by, and offer nothing but echoes and groans to stop her. 

Bella's right ear twitches. She can hear shouting. And underneath that... yes, she's certain of it. She'd know the flutter of film being fed through a camera anywhere. People. Crew, fucking about while the ship collapsed around them. Or maybe... nngh. She'd find her answers soon enough. 

"Who!"

She shouts at the top of her lungs as she bursts onto the set of what looks suspiciously like a Prion Paula movie. She pays it no mind. It's only the basic tact of a lifelong maid that keeps her from kicking over every set piece and bit of equipment as she stomps through the room with her tail lashing in permanent attack threat.

"The fuck!"

Her golden, bloodshot eye roams over a bunch of Coherent. Some in costume, some too much themselves to ever be able to tell. She watches to see which of them flinch, but all of them do. They part like an honor guard revealing a princess to a ball, a wall of bodies like an inverted phalanx. Revealing openly what they should be protecting. Her iris consumes her entire eye when she sees him, and shrinks to a furious slit a moment after. The sheep. The one from the Eater of Worlds, the party on Salib, and the battle. The one who said her name. 

"...[i]You.[/i]" Her original booming accusation falls discarded at her feet. She hisses instead. Her fingers curl, and only her uncovered, scarred fingers keep her from seeming (entirely) like she's fully reverted to being XIII, come to finish the kill, "Tell me who's running this gods forsaken rust bucket. I thought it was the Princess, but no. So tell me. Who let the Tides on this ship? Which idiot thought it would be a good idea to shove them in a dark corner and let them torture themselves? Tell me who I have to--"

She squeezes her wrist and pushes the thought down into a frustrated groan.

"Tell me, and I'll be out of your hair. I don't want to sit here staring at you any more than you do me, believe me."