Trish rolled her eyes at his being offended. As if she cared about that in the slightest after what he'd said to her. If anything, she wanted him to be more offended. And even though he was saying that he didn't care about the money first, of the risk of selling the canisters, his saying he was going to keep the women alive just resonated his declaration of "buying" them. He was just protecting his investment, and the canisters were a risk to that. In the end, it was still about money to him, in her mind. She had nothing more to say to him, she'd said her piece.
She took the cup of coffee that Beth had provided, sipping it lightly, enjoying it. It was one of the few good things her father did. He made great tea, and great coffee. And he always made them for her when she was tired but still needing to stay up and learn the trade. It really did calm her down. She'd have to thank Beth privately later. When Jinxy suggested making the ship harder to break into, Trish's mind began following the way of booby traps. They wouldn't want her to damage the ship, not structurally at least. So they'd have to be small charges, maybe in the form of flash bangs or shockers. She could bury land mines outside as well... make a map of them.
"I need to get to making the supplies and preparations. If you need me, I'll be in the cargo bay." She looked over Angel who'd stayed very silent through this whole situation. She considered asking her to join her, but she worked better alone, or at least, always had worked alone. She stood up and turned to leave, ignoring the audible sigh from the captain.
She made her way into the cargo bay, and began studying where to set up her work space. She really would need to set up something more permanent somewhere. Maybe one of the spare rooms that wasn't in use. She checked each container, making a mental checklist of anything that was useful. After much huffing and puffing, the containers were stacked in a way that made a large, impromptu work desk. She cracked her knuckles loudly, pulled out her multi-tool, and began hearing the music from her youth in her head.
Many hours passed, the cargo bay filled with the noise of work and awful singing to music from 1980s earth. There was a row of containers in the center of the cargo bay, behind her workspace. The most prominent piece was a large, pressurized container, the size of a basketball, all shining and metal, with a tiny remote trigger next to it. There was a pile of smaller containers with sponges attached to them, with a strip of duct tape on the opposite side. There were a few odd looking things, covered in tines, with a single button on top. Finally, there were a few frisbee looking containers, with long cables attached to them.
Trish stood proudly before her creations, humming to Smooth Criminal. She didn't even notice her fatigue from this, but was quite satisfied with finally being useful. She'd bury the mines here in a bit and make out a map, and set a few traps on the ship, and would arm them as they left. She wasn't even sure what time it was now, but she moved over to the intercom system, pulling up a ship wide broadcast. "I need anyone interested in things that go boom to come to the cargo bay please."
