Thraxius merely bowed as low as his legs could possibly muster at the Commodore's approach, deciding wisely to keep his vox and his words to himself.  Oily thoughts were still mucking about in the organic parts of his brain, and he didn't trust himself to put on a show of respect until he'd scrubbed them from his mind.<br/><br/>It hardly helped matters that he'd spent the last few hours in the company of Adept Curlius, who after some doing had managed to convince him to have a Utility Mechadendrite of his own design installed into his left shoulder.  The<em>of his own design</em>part should have set off alarm bells right away, but in his ill mood Thraxius had been too distracted to muster up proper concern.  It was only<em>after</em>the fact that he noticed the childish scribble of a smiling face set into the very tip of the articulated appendage, after wondering for nearly twenty minutes why in the blazes everyone he passed kept laughing at his approach.<br/><br/>After getting his servo-skull to adorn the face with a proper mustache and fangs, he resolved to kill Adept Curlius and make it look like a very convenient accident.<br/><br/>Getting the hang of moving the damn thing without smacking himself in the face with it was another matter entirely.  The winding mechanical tendril was literally a third arm, but it would take a bit of time to get used to.  Thankfully he had lost all feeling in his head years ago, but that didn't make it any less embarrassing.  At least the censer was a nice touch, though he'd damn near knocked out one of the flight crew when it spat a concentrated dose of intense right in the poor lads face.