<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/u4B6UwM.jpg?1)   </div><strong>Name</strong>Fetter<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Barracks, > Helipad<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Midnight Angel, Miss Spell, Cherry Spark<br/>Character sheets (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=190246)<br/><hr/><br/>The shades are slanted half-shut, painting bars of sunlight on the crisply made bed, its bone-white sheets wrinkling beneath her bare, golden legs.  Ally's dark eyes are drinking in the view of the Gulf of Mexico, where a few small boats are the rare and secluded occupants of the rippling, glistening water.  She has a yellow highlighter in her hand, does not notice that her text selection has gone well off the side of her Social Psychology's text to trail away into the white margin.<br/><br/>Her uniform hangs in her open closet, watching from the corner of the like a patient butler.  Its polymers, she's told, are 'like kevlar'... designed to endure harsh environments while being as flexible as a steel-belted radial, and of course suggestively enhance her b-cups.  After all, Overwatch is building an image with this... Cadre thing.  An image where girls are girly and brainy and hot and just say no to drugs.  Multi-ethnic, even-- and Ally's got the whole "ambiguous Latina? or maybe Chicana? well, a cute brown girl anyway!" sub-market cornered.<br/><br/>A tone of alert in the hallway-- audible words, muffled.  She doesn't turn her head, just stares at the water and keeps thinking.<br/><br/>Ally owes them.  The pseudo-celebrity bullshit goes hand-in-hand... but she wonders about the others.  Does everyone here 'owe' Overwatch, or are they getting something else as a side-benefit?  She thinks about Comet Girl, for just a moment.  She didn't see the video, and she has no desire to do so.  She simply wonders, for a moment, what it takes to climb out of a pit that deep.<br/><br/>Another tone in the hallway.  Then a tell-tale buzz from her cell-phone.<br/><br/><em>'Ruggedized,' Patricia had explained to Ally, her pretty eyes looking proud and sexy.  'Inside it's an iPhone, but outside its a tank'<br/>'You couldn't have got me an Android?' she asked drolly, arching one black eyebrow and feeling the thing's weight.  'Or maybe a chip in my head?'<br/>'If we put a chip in you, it won't be your head, Fetter.'  She had smirked... not laughed, but kind of wanted to.</em><br/><br/>She was on her feet then, flinging off her t-shirt.  She had put the uniform on once or twice, mostly cause she hoped she'd tear a seam and have to send the thing back.  She hadn't been successful... and though this uniform is the only thing she's found that doesn't freeze solid, burn up, or tear to ribbons when she flies around in it,  so it's going to have to do.  She still resents that it included a half-inch of extra bust padding, though... certainly not for extra combat protection.  Bad enough that she couldn't wear a sportsbra under it.<br/><br/>"Alright," she says to herself, closing the size zipper and bracing herself for one glance in the sideboard mirror.<br/><br/>"Show time."<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Fetter emerged onto the roof... still new, mostly a stranger to the other members, she locked eyes with Cherry and gave a quick nod-- if things were different, they might have even been dorm mates, but Fetter can't do public anymore.  She then sends an even quicker nod in Miss Spell's direction, her gaze refusing to linger too long... after an unfortunate first meeting that very nearly ended in her being mortally embarrassed, which would have undoubtedly been exactly what a number of their compatriots wanted... wring out the new girl, see if she's fun play.  Fetter then saw Midnight Angel, and found herself suddenly standing just a little straighter, keeping her chin just a little higher.  She met the young woman's eyes and nodded without leaving the gaze.  Nothing like a smile crosses her lips, but she does not show any anger or doubt.