Major Untaaura Verratoa had what most would consider a full daily docket.

She was out of her bunk at 0430, which left enough time for an hour of PT, then fifteen minutes each of sonic shower, chow, and dress before another fifteen to get her to her security station at 0630. Once there, about an hour and a half sort out any sad sacks who had the misfortune to land in her brig and then deal with whatever busy work landed on her desk. An hour for joint commands meeting, two hours for patrol, 30 minutes for mid-day chow, and then about an hour after chow that was set aside for whatever minor fires she had to put out or random bullshit she had to muck out.

Today, that bullshit was in the form of a MSE unit, that she was forced to carry to the repair depot herself. A MSE unit that, by her estimation, had gone out of order three times now - each time with a bad motivator. And since it happened precisely at the time that every junior officer or patrol trooper was tending to something actually important, the onerous task of taking this metal piece of shit to the depot fell on her. She didn't ask someone to do anything she wasn't willing and able to do herself, but she damn-well didn't have to like it. Despite how good the cut of your uniform looked, people didn't give a wide berth for someone carrying a bum mouse droid with them.

The shop was its usual state of mess. Metal shavings finding convenient corners to gather in. The air always had a slight sense of closeness to it, a little too warm for comfort, which caused it to hold humidity and a persistent bouquet somewhere between old lubricant grease, inert-stage coaxium, and sickly-sweet coolant funk. Something unfamiliar to her played on the audio net, a little too dancy for her taste.

Finally with a counter to relieve her of her burden, Untaaura set the MSE unit up top with a half-disdainful clatter. She couldn't see any of the usuals within sight of the front desk, so the Major tapped the bell. With a ding, the tiny droid unfolded itself under her claw tip, and looked up at her.

"Welcome to the Spire Two Repair Depot. Do you have a work order number?"

Untaaura gave the MSE a sharp rap with her knuckles.

"No tjicket. Motjivatorr'ss out. Agajin.", she added, pointedly.

"Oh I'm sorry to hear that!" the droid began spooling through its de-escalation subroutine as small manipulator arms began to work at the paneling leading to the tiny compartment that housed the MSE's brain. Retrieving a data wafer, the greeter droid quickly scanned it. "Yes, I see that you have had two previous motivator servicings on this unit..." it suddenly swiveled its oculus to Untaaura and quickly scanned her face, "...Major Verratoa. I will be glad to assign you a work order as well as a service technician to fix this problem!"

With that, the "bell" droid collapsed back into a puck-shaped disc, righted itself on it's wheel edge, and careened off the counter, wheeling down the corridor beyond.

Untaaura watched it go with a muttered "Damn drrojidss" under her breath. Hurry Up and Fucking Wait. The true Marine motto.