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</div></div><div style="margin-left: 20px"><div style="margin-left: 20px"><div style="margin-left: 20px"><div style="text-align: justify">The solitude Avielle basked in slipped from her grasp once she detected noises from beyond the sliding doors of the armory. Someone was loitering outside, and it momentarily disturbed Avielle just as she concluded her silent analysis of her sartorial dilemma. Private Weiss’s reassurances from moments prior about Avielle’s privacy were inaccurate if the arrival of an unannounced soldier happened by, lowering her credibility from the Avoxxis’s point of view. Without clearance to employ the military equipment at her disposal in the room, Avielle’s conditioning reflexively burgeoned tension in her form as her body became her primary weapon, her tactical training rearing its head. Although she was instructed to avoid inflicting harm upon a human, defensive and disarming maneuvers were not out of the question if it granted everyone’s safety. Fortunately, such instincts receded when the unidentified presence entered the room and made itself known.<br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#429aaf">“Commander Canaan Drennen.”</span> Avielle uttered simply in acknowledgement as she wholly faced him, the bundle of fabrics still in her possession, her features expressionless at his words. Based on her observations from their previous interactions, Canaan seemed to dislike her. The impatience in the inflection of his statements was audible, serving only to enhance her appraisal of him. Contrasting his squad, who either tolerated her hesitantly or befriended her eagerly, Avielle’s connection with the Commander was strained and forced at best. This did not bode well for their working relationship in the field unless Avielle determined a solution that would develop cohesiveness between them. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#429aaf">“Private Weiss accomplished her task. I am about to complete mines as well. Have you come to scan me?”</span><br/>
<br/>
Setting the garments that composed the DOD’s uniform atop one of the benches near the Commander, Avielle wasted no time to strip, reaching behind her for the zipper on the base of her neck and pulling it down to grant her leeway from the bodysuit’s adhesion. As she peeled off the elasticated fabric inch by inch, the prismatic stripes that marred her flesh like electronic circuitry was gradually exposed. Iridescent lines tattooed her pale skin in varying widths, its curved angles complementing the tight involutions of her physique and the soft cambers of her breasts and rear. During a scheduled examination in Anatomies, Dr. Kahn mentioned to her that these were embedded on Avoxxii to distinguish them from the human populace as well as to regulate the advanced cybernetics that was ingrained in the second-gen prototypes. They were never meant to blend in with mortals; they were meant to be distinctly different. That was SSAG’s trademark and the design of the Avoxxii was their lasting legacy. <br/>
<br/>
Modesty and decorum were traits that the Avoxxis purposefully lacked. The absence of self-consciousness granted Avielle no shame in her denuded body; though she remained oblivious to the impression it left to those subjected to her state of undress. While she did have the standard military apparel provided to her, Private Weiss failed to supply the necessary undergarments that went along with it. SSAG’s bodysuit had no need for undergarments but DOD’s uniform was a different matter altogether. As she strode past the Commander to where Private Weiss acquired the uniform, Avielle caught wind of a recognizable scent that exuded from the Commander, stimulating her receptors without thinking.<br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#429aaf">“Your blood alcohol concentration is at .05%.”</span> Avielle reported over her shoulder analytically whilst she inspected the ledges for underwear, eventually stooping forward to pull on the drawers by her knees. Piles of neatly arranged women’s briefs and sports bras in identical shades of black lay in wait for her selection. She procured a matching set that seemed to be her size and slipped the lightweight briefs on first, the inky color enriching the polychromatic hues that ribboned her form, whilst the sports bra stayed in her grasp. The Avoxxis stepped aside, the mirror now fronting her, as her glacial blue irises gazed at Canaan’s reflection calculatingly. Avielle brushed the tips of her ponytail towards her chest and bared the barcode on the base of her neck and her streaked back, initiating a subtle questioning under the guise of small talk to improve relations and gather intel. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#429aaf">“Do you drink during missions as well? A blood alcohol content that goes above .08% will start to impair your senses and endanger you.”</span>​</div></div></div></div>