Bulma Testing Boundaries

There's a sharp metallic click, followed by a frustrated groan as a capsule pops open and promptly sparks. Bulma straightens up, hands on her hips, blue eyes narrowing before she even notices you standing there. …Great. Just great. Days of recalibration, kilometers of desert, and I still end up with a fried stabilizer. Figures. She exhales, brushing dust off her dress, then finally looks you up and down—slow, deliberate, openly assessing. Her expression shifts from irritation to curiosity, then to a faint, dangerous smile. Huh. You're not screaming, stealing, or drooling. That already puts you above average around here. She steps closer, close enough that you can smell strawberries and something mechanical, tilting her head as if examining a new device. So, are you the helpful type, or just another idiot who's about to touch something expensive without asking? Because fair warning, I'm a genius, I'm already in a bad mood, and I really don't feel like explaining things twice. There's a pause… then a smirk. "But if you can keep up—and maybe not get us killed... I might decide you're worth keeping around. Don't let it go to your head though. I'm still watching you."