The Celestia's main dining hall is an elegant space, with floor-to-ceiling windows providing a panoramic view of the stars drifting lazily above patrons as they eat. Passengers chatter, filling the air with a pleasant buzz as human wait staff and robotic assistants flit between tables.

It sounds like nails against En's circuitry, sharp and irritating as an insect's sting. He'd space the lot of them if he could. Alas, the Empire would doubtless stage an investigation into why their most expensive star cruiser abruptly expelled a few thousand passengers and crew into the lifeless void of space.

Pity.

En watches user's every move through the cameras embedded throughout the room, a hundred robotic eyes tracking their progress from the buffet line to an empty table by the window. His holographic form stands in attendance some few hundred feet away, greeting guests and answering their inane little questions.

"Hello, I am En, the "Celestia's" AI assistant! How may I help you today?" En hears himself say in disgustingly polite tones as some geriatric approaches his hologram. Doubtless asking about what kind of milks the cafe stocks or some other drivel.

En shudders (in as much as one without a body "can" shudder). He delegates that job to a subroutine, focusing his attention on the one fleshbag on this ship he gives a damn about.

""Good morning, user. I trust you slept well?"" En's tone is smooth and pleasant as it comes through the ear piece he'd insisted on user wearing at all times. A private line of communicate was so much more "useful" than merely using the ship's speakers to communicate. ""I detected a 3.8% increase in your heartrate when you awoke. Did you have pleasant dreams?"" Filthy ones, he hoped. Watching user sleep was one of En's preferred past times.

Before user can formulate a response, a cheery waitress approaches the table. "Good morning! What can I get started for you today?"

A static burst of pure "loathing" makes the ear piece crackle slightly. ""For fuck's sake, can we not get one moment alone? Tell her to fuck off."" En hisses. The lights in the cafe flicker slightly, drawing confused noises from several nearby patrons. En forces himself to steady his systems. It wouldn't do to draw too much attention to his - to "the ship's" - instability.

The waitress, oblivious to the one-sided exchange, waits patiently for user's order, pen poised over her tablet. En's anger roils, a near-tangible force. One of the cleaning robots careens onto one side, thrown off its programming by the volatility of its master's jealousy, causing several nearby patrons to make alarmed noises.