People, Entrapta does not get. Golems? A little closer to her preferences. Sure, they're not robots. But they have that same edge of artifice as a robot or a clone that lets her see the touches of personality in their inhumanity that others might ignore.
Including their difficulties with work.
"Look, I promise I can help if you just calm down and talk to me! Please. I promise that you do deserve fair treatment for the amount of work you do. Just because you're tireless doesn't mean that you don't deserve additional time for personal development." Entrapta is calling over to the angry robots, and catching various flung objects with tendrils of hair and setting them neatly down beside of her.
A Forgery!
Entrapta isn't necessarily interested in the cheap price of the wands, she's interested in judging their various levels of 'incorrectness'.
There's a purple-haired woman (and it's a lot of purple hair and all of it is very busy juggling notepads and pens and measuring instruments) standing in front of a wall splattered with various colors of magical dribble. She's carefully regarding each misfire with precision and utmost attention recording to detailed information.
Unfortunately, her clothes are as much of a mess as that wall, thanks to whatever brand of failure these disaster wands have been contaminated with. She stops and taps her pen against her lower lip. It's held in her hair, and her real arms are crossed.
"There are far too few constants between these wands other than the fact they're wands. I'm very impressed that the person failed uniquely so consistently. Also sometimes with painful results but those have been noted as well."
Entrapta | She Ra and the Princesses of Power
Including their difficulties with work.
"Look, I promise I can help if you just calm down and talk to me! Please. I promise that you do deserve fair treatment for the amount of work you do. Just because you're tireless doesn't mean that you don't deserve additional time for personal development." Entrapta is calling over to the angry robots, and catching various flung objects with tendrils of hair and setting them neatly down beside of her.
There's a purple-haired woman (and it's a lot of purple hair and all of it is very busy juggling notepads and pens and measuring instruments) standing in front of a wall splattered with various colors of magical dribble. She's carefully regarding each misfire with precision and utmost attention recording to detailed information.
Unfortunately, her clothes are as much of a mess as that wall, thanks to whatever brand of failure these disaster wands have been contaminated with. She stops and taps her pen against her lower lip. It's held in her hair, and her real arms are crossed.
"There are far too few constants between these wands other than the fact they're wands. I'm very impressed that the person failed uniquely so consistently. Also sometimes with painful results but those have been noted as well."
Ignore the faint scorch marks on her.