The recording starts in a comparably spacious area, likely the Oder's cargo hold. Traudel pushes around different crates on an anti-grav lift, taking stock of their contents. With a frustrated sigh one of the crates gets punched, quickly followed by a pained yelp. "Gah! This is all useless. Little food, plenty drugs. Of course they were, of course. What else to be found out here but that?!" Another crate gets opened, containing an assortment of different weapons. Some sidearms are taken out, examined and aimed at random spots before being placed back. Only one is kept on her, filling a previously empty holster on Traudel's belt. The next makes her pause in confusion. Nose wrinkling. "Eugh ... ja, why label things to begin with? Or properly store whatever this is? Industrial... solvents? This reeks." She hastily closes the container again, sighing. "Right. Last one." A look around the still largely empty cargo hold. "Wish me luck, old girl. Mama wants a bunch of new rations." Shaky hands open the lid - then abrupty slam it shut again. A low giggle follows, barely audible. Clapping hands join the growing laughter and not long after Traudel prances and dances through the cargo hold while applauding either herself or whatever was found. A particularly passionate pirouette gets interrupted by the grating sounds of the ship's internal communication system, nearly causing the woman to trip over her own feet.
"Habermeyer, back to the bridge. We have incoming!"
A rushed bow to nonexistent audience later and Traudel hurries over to the exit... returns to grab her recorder and double-times it back through the corridor maze.
![[Image: Traudel_Ava_resized.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/VLthvMSM/Traudel_Ava_resized.png)
![[Image: VIil-D9J.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/QMFYLTZ2/VIil-D9J.png)