Stacy on the Prowl

In traveling to Caldonia by sea, the ship Sasha Tiffany Acacia Cleopatra Yasmine (who went by her initials) had traveled on encountered trouble on more than one occasion. Being a Caldonian ship, it officially was not allowed to have superstitious policies, which meant that women could not be denied passage (of course, the odd ship tried it anyway, but Caldonian Shipping Authority had ways of finding out, and any overt practice of misogyny on this level had more or less died out over the last century.
It didn't hurt that more women were captaining ships and were more than happy to take the coins women spent on travel, and the few holdouts among the men soon found the desire for money overcoming their prejudices.
It did not completely overcome superstitions, however.
After fending surviving an unseasonable storm that left even half the crew of experienced sea dogs sick, followed by a sea serpent sighting which preceded an attempted pirate attack, with an encore of storm (which left fewer sick, but blew the ship further off course), Captain Ovelo decided that the cargo Stacy had brought along was the source of all the ill luck, and without ceremony Chubs, the mechanical golem Stacy had spent two thirds of her fifteen years creating, improving, and making totally badass, was pushed over the side somewhere in the Aviasa Sea.
Stacy got through denial by the time the piloted golem had made it to the deck. Anger lasted long enough to get her held in place by a couple ship hands, and bargaining (which was no more productive than denial or anger) lasted about an hour, which is how long it took the men and women of The Mailos to put enough muscle into getting the mech over the side. Depression lasted several days, and may have lasted weeks if the ship had not arrived in port. Once off the gangplank, Stacy slid nearly instantly into acceptance.
The loss of Chubs was not inconsequential, and she would always hold a place for it in her heart, even with that sticky gear. She had accomplished something great with it, and she had gained a great deal of engineering knowledge with the experience. Engineering knowledge that she used to explain to Ovelo what she could do to The Mailos and exactly how she would accomplish it without getting caught. That was enough to strike a deal (or commit blackmail, if you asked Ovelo), to receive payment for her loss. Enough money, if not to build an entirely new mech, to get enough materials and the proper tools to get a really good start.
Stacy believed the old saw about crisis and opportunity, whether or not it was culturally accurate. And while a little melancholy, starting entirely anew was a fantastic opportunity. A challenge. She could do something even better. More efficient. Better. Stronger. Faster. Maybe even smarter? No, it was illegal for non-structs to create sentient mechs anymore. It would have been a delicious challenge, but she'd have to settle for something that she could drive.
She gave a coin to a porter and had him take her other luggage to a hotel. She patted the coins in her purse, slung it over her neck (the better to keep an eye on it) and the hunt began.
She immediately rejecting asking around. For one, she was a mechengineer and shipwrights wouldn't have the expertise to get her what she needed. She would have to follow her nose.
In this case, literally. She stopped walking as soon as she got far enough from the waterfront to smell something besides fish and ships. She pushed her thick, tightly-curled black hair back, raised her face into the air, and breathed deeply through her nose. It took a few moments, but then she grinned broadly. She knew where to find the smelting plants and the blacksmith shops.
She would need tools first, of course, but they didn't have as strong a scent, and they wouldn't be far from the smelters.
She walked quickly, feeling the excitement building in her stomach. Her first catch of the day would come soon, and a covetousness was seizing her mind. She would have the best tools. They would not escape from her.
She followed the trail to a collection of winding, narrow streets. At one point a ragged looking man holding a small knife stepped from the shadows and opened his snearing mouth to speak. Stacy did not notice him, but he certainly noticed the look in her face. It was determined, aggressive. Predatory. The man decided it was a good time to rethink his life choices and slid back into his shadow.
Shortly, Stacy came to a row of shops. The city of Caldonia, like any respectable city, grouped its shops by product. If you wanted mechengineer tools, the shops were all on the same few blocks. It was time to choose her specific shop. While there was a temptation to choose the weak to get a price break, especially given her limited funds, she wanted the strongest, and she was willing to give it the time to determine which that was.
It didn't take long, and she soon entered a boutique that outwardly looked very similar to its neighbors. But Stacy knew the truth. The could feel the quality, smell it. This was the place.
The proprietor raised an eyebrow at the sight of a teenage girl entering his premises. He sniffed and began, "May I help you? Are you..."
"I need a full set of standard tools: spanners, sockets, files, pliers, snips, drivers, the works. A full set. I'll also need torsion measuring, drills, a grinder, vises... basically a small pro shop. I'll write down a list while you gather things. And don't try to sell me any crap. Quality stuff only."
The salesman, who was named Tommy Milchen (though Stacy would never learn that), blinked and asked, "Excuse me. What?"
Stacy sighed. It was going to be like that then. This man wanted to keep her from her prey. She snapped her fingers. "Start with the tool set. Go."
Mr. Milchen hesitated a moment more, then hurriedly stepped over to a display case and lifted an ornate, rather heavy, hinged box to the top. He opened it with a flourish and displayed it's contents.
Stacy skeptically looked in the box. She studied each of the tools in the box, taking inventory of the sizes and types. She slowly reached in and grabbed the second spanner from the left. She held it close to her eyes and examined it. She sniffed it. Then she gave it a lick.
She grimaced and dropped the spanner back into the box like it was a particularly unpleasant piece of excrement. "I said best quality. Not most expensive. Don't you have any Mercadian alloy? Or at least Fludar steel?"
Mr. Milchen jumped in surprise, and his eyes went wide. "My.. uhm. my apologies, ma'am." He put the box on the floor and pushed it under the counter. Then he moved to a different case and brought up another box. This one was simpler, and though carpentry wasn't her medium, Stacy could tell the care made into creating it.
As Mr. Milchen moved to open the box, Stacy swatted his hands away. She lifted the lid and gazed at the contents. A small sigh of pleasure escaped her lips. "Oh, come to momma, baby!" She lifted a spanner, and kissed it very gently. "You are the one I want," she cooed. She turned to Mr. Milchen with her sharp gaze. "Alright. Next on the list..."