[It's unfortunate for the poor machine that Cassandra's temper flares so hot that - yup. She kicks it. Aaaaand immediately regrets that. She hops back, the knife dropped and forgotten, one hand clutching her foot.]

Ow - ow.

[Huffs. Well, the worst of Cassandra's temper has passed, and the back pat is appreciated, at the very least.]

Ugh, I get it. They probably don't want us all getting weaponry. Probably because they don't know what we'd try to use it on first. But couldn't this thing spit out something besides a mountain of trombones?