Dyssia frets over her notebook as if doing so will make the words line up better.

"What even do I say to them?" she half-whines, half-wails, and tosses the notebook into a drawer. It's not staring accusingly at her, she knows, but still she turns away from the drawer's gaze.

"Oh hey, by the way, I know you told me not to steal them, and whoops I did anyway, and now it's causing trouble, but actually it's your [i]wife's[/i] warrior servitors who are causing the problem, can we weaponize them until we find a good spot to dump them?"

She's less pacing than she is orbiting--hovering around a fixed point, tail trailing behind her like a particularly stressful comet.

"Dolce, you were with them on Beri, right? You seem like you know them so much better than I do. What even can I do to help here?"