[ note: character is around 16, 6'10" in height, has blue-grey skin with a leathery texture, and ears like this. basic info here! she refers to other teammates as 'serjins' - which means 'fellow worker/peer', polite. she may have other ways to refer to people depending on their perceived role. ]

1. CLEANING ;

For Sheyra, the running of this establishment - a vehicle of transport, but one too fantastical for her to understand - was chaotic. A gathering of many people, social norms, and yet, from her perspective, she was the one incapable of finding a role that made sense against what she saw around her.

So many around her idled, in every room. It felt like a test; to make her succumb, to forget who she is and to fall for whatever trickery this vehicle represented. There was too little she knew. But what she knew was her job, and no matter the strange facilities...


☄ CLOTHING, upper stores car. She takes what washing has been left to be cleaned, ignoring the machines and grabbing buckets from the cleaning supplies, taking powders and liquids and sitting with them, quiet as she studies every last word written. Is this your basket of laundry this (tall) young girl has taken to sit with her?

You can stop her, or find her - whoever you are - with the basket of laundry and the bucket filled with water and detergent, going through the process of submerging into what she can, no matter the size of the bucket she has. She's careful with each piece, searching for stains, using a small scrubbing brush over them.

⛷ WEAPONRY, armoury. If she's asked to help with the weapon maintenance, then the most she can offer in assistance is polishing. But accepting the request and actually doing it are two different things, where all of the items are...overwhelming, to say the least.

From guns, blades, shields, cataloguing which bottle with the same words upon them there are, putting them back. The latter, Sheyra can do in silence and with ease, but the former has her sitting with a more strained silence, her brow always knotted. The blades seem the easier, but when she picks up one that's particularly odd in design, it clatters as she drops it, gasping at the strange energy coming off from it.

Catch her before she speaks, but Sheyra isn't too proud to ask (because she would rather ask, than to make a fool of herself by not) to ask another passenger who might be passing through, with a word that sounds like peer, or co-worker in their ears:

"Serjin, do you have time spare? My hands have never polished these tools before. I do not want my job to be inadequate."

2. OTHER CHORES, HELPING HANDS

Though doing another section's designated chores leans into not following the few rules of the vehicle, Sheyra is someone who doesn't know what to do with herself, with too much free time. So she goes, to the kitchens, to the stores, to wherever that would seem to need work. And if there's already someone in there who could be mistaken as doing anything there, she greets them with a "Serjin", arms folding over one another waist-level.

"May I assist you? My duties do not require me at this time, and I can offer you my hands."

She gets into the habit of later into the day, once she figures how time flows through the train, to go through the carriages to check on what she can. That there aren't clothes left undone or unfolded, that there's no washing left in the kitchens. That tables are clean, that the floors are not marked.

3. MISSION TIME ; team three

If life on the train was chaotic for Sheyra, missions were nigh-unbearable to her senses. The technology was beyond her, tension and desperation not unknown to her, but its atmosphere is enough to force her into silence, taking on the few jobs that she can manage.

Down on Magnitton, she brings food and water to the rooms that many rest in, her usual greetings of "Serjin" weaker than usual, but her usual custom of arms folding across her waist following.

"May I assist in bringing anything more?" Or, if they seem to be dirtied, messy from getting more personal outside with the debris: "Do you require a healer? I can tend to any minor wounds, so you may rest."

4. NETWORK POST... BUT NOT?

But come the end of the mission, she can't keep it in, how inadequate she felt in her abilities. Not following the orders given to her, by an unseen client or otherwise. She knows that many on the vessel share their voices across the many carriages, and she isn't sure of that's to be her fate too: to prostrate herself to her fellow serjins, to admit to her inabilities to fulfil her tasks.

Before it comes to that - and because she doesn't know how to use the ICPs -, Sheyra approaches someone older than her, or a known team lead. Her arms crossing over her waist, if her hands pointed upwards with an added respect. Her expression is both remorseful, yet stony.

"Experienced serjin," she greets. "I apologise, that I need your guidance. I have," her voice dips, head bowing in shame, "failed my client."