It doesn't take long at all for Yoshimi to become overwhelmed by the large crowd in the Obs Deck.  Frown lines etch themselves deeper and deeper into her face before she finally makes a break for it, spotting an exit across the room.  Rather hurriedly, she shoves through the groups of people, muttering apologies as she elbows and steps on people.  She has always been a titch claustrophobic, and the combination of a large mass of people and the peculiar, anxiety-producing situation of being abducted seems to have amplified the feeling tenfold.

When she finds herself alone in the hallway, she exhales heavily, leaning against the wall and sliding to the floor.  She doesn't even feel compelled to explore the ship as she would have had she been feeling any differently.  Though she wouldn't admit it to herself, she was intrigued by the entire situation.  A talking ship named Stacy floating around kidnapping people from different dimensions and places in the time stream for some Great Purpose, capital-G, capital-P.  It was like something out of a sci-fi novel, something that Yoshimi would have enjoyed reading.  She wasn't enjoying it very much now that she was part of it, though.  A sigh escapes.

"Stupid meatship," she mutters, leaning her head against the wall and closing her eyes.  At least the people were nice.

She had slept and dreamt the dream curled around the sand filled bin she'd found the tiny Maker in, her sandworm, the one who'd watched her take the Water of Life. Arha knew it was that one like she knew Shai-Hulud from Shai-Hulud. They sounded different in her head, a variance in hum, in pitch, in imagery. This one was barely out of its sandtrout stage, as long as her torso with the girth of it still thickening. Now, she sat Fremen style, meditating on many things and nothing all at once.

This place that she now was in was too humid and both she and the little Maker did not care for it. He opened and closed his small jaws, irritated as he let out a grumbling, if tiny roar. It was not yet impressive and she reached to slide her fingertips over his sandwashed hide, murmuring in soft sing-song hum as he rose to snap at her without malice.

Arha caught its meaning in a flash of imagery.

"I know," she whispered, covering her mouth with a soft huff. "This is not home and you have yet no room. Again, we are trapped, little Maker. I do not know if I can free you from this. I am no wormkiller, though I had no choice the last time."

Her voice was soft, barely audible as she caught the sound of someone approaching. Arha's hand was on a crysknife in an instant, her blue-within-blue eyes narrowed.

Team Mike, please report to the... a pause ...it's large, it's French, does everyone know what the Notre Dame looks like? Hold on, I'll send a photo on your comms.

The Doctor, seated on the steps, pauses to do as he just said. With some juggling of his communicator and omnicom and, all right, perhaps some slight screwdriver-y, he gets it done with minimal difficulty.

As I was saying. Team Mike, please report to the Notre Dame, Team Mike, please report to the Notre Dame.

He pauses again, laying down to wait, ankles crossed.

Master, that does mean you as well. No, we're not changing the name.

Well Loren had to admit, this place was a lot freakier than any spaceship she'd been in before, and she'd been in a few. But that wasn't what was bothering her, it was the future.

Elfangor was going to leave, going to die, even. Her son didn't know her until later in his life? Why? There were a lot of questions and she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answers. That didn't change the fact that she needed to know. There had to be some way to stop it from happening when she returned.

So after the introductions in the Obs Deck she kept close to Elfangor and as soon as she was alone with him she asked the questions that were burning in her mind.

"Elfangor, I have to know. What happens to me?"