[OOC: This is a really long post without much pause for interaction.  Sorry if my walls of text are excessive.  Let me know if you want me to trim it down some to allow for more responsive progression.]<br/><br/><em>"Come on, Self.  Wake up.  Stay alert."</em>Arcadia always addressed herself as "Self" in her internal monologue.  It was something she'd picked up ages ago (maybe in middle school?) after reading a book in which a protagonist did the same.  She didn't even remember which book, now, but the habit remained.<br/><br/>It was tempting to let herself rest, to sleep.  Travelling was always exhausting, and there had been a fair bit of it.  After pocketing most of the UH's relocation stipend, Arcadia had just taken a commercial flight from Atlanta to Johannesburg.  Three connections across so many time zones had left her feeling demolished.  From Johannesburg, she'd been escorted on to transports chartered or owned by the UH.  Those vehicles had been much more comfortable than the airliners, but those trips had also been much faster, and quite hurried.  And now that left her here.  In this room.  On this couch.  Despite her exhaustion, she didn't want to sleep.  Part of it was not wanting to make a bad first impression; she didn't know when the team was arriving.<br/><br/>But mostly, this place made her uncomfortable, restless.  It was too extravagant, too opulent.  No, that wasn't quite it.  She'd been in swanky places before.  It was too arranged, too contrived.  It felt like a space that had been prepared, to be seen and presented to some audience.  Arcadia shuddered a bit.  The thought was a bit disturbing whether she was the intended audience or not.<em>"If I'm not the audience, who's supposed to be watching?  If I am the audience, why do they need to impress me?"</em>She stretched, stood, and began to pace about the common area.<br/><br/>In an effort to dispel her unease and her tiredness, she ambled and looked around, trying to examine the space from a tactical perspective.  The tremendous window would render the room indefensible, if it were normal glass, so Arcadia could only assume that it was enhanced in some way.  She could have tested its material strength herself, but that would most definitely have been unwise.  Other than that, the space was surprisingly sparse.  The video rig at one end, the kitchen in the other, and a few handfuls of lounge furniture.  The colors and patterning on the walls and floors, the arrangement of the furniture and lighting fixtures, the architecture of stairs and doors and walkways in the vertical space all served to make the space seem a bit smaller, a bit more livable, than it actually was.<br/><br/>In actuality, the room was a vast, shapeless, empty space, an architectural oddity.  It was as though somebody had painted a veneer of "high-class living room" onto an aircraft hangar.  The sheer size and height of the space left clear lines of sight to every other part of the room, with only tiny blind spots behind couches and in the kitchen.  But even there, these spaces were isolated, and exposed to positions on one or more of the stairs and elevated walkways.  This was a room with nowhere to hide.  That's part of what made it feel so presented, so stage-like.<br/><br/>Having noticed this, Arcadia relaxed a little.  Typically, she didn't need or want any places to hide.<br/><br/>She briefly amused herself in an attempt to take advantage of the clear sight lines to place herself exactly in the center of the room.  In a space this large, it's difficult to judge.<em>"Self, you're just wasting time now. What are you doing?"</em>Taking a few deep breaths, she settles into a series of balance and footwork drills from Curriculum 3 of the Vantage Combat System.  This occupies the whole of her attention for at least several minutes.  She loses herself in the exercise and doesn't notice the time pass.<br/><br/>When a door opens and several voices and presences make themselves known, she whirls to a more natural posture, slightly flushed from the exertion.<em>"Okay, Self, don't be nervous.  And don't say anything stupid."</em>As she turns to face the team, Arcadia sees a tall young woman glide through the doorway, moving fluidly and with surprising speed, all long black curls and flashing green eyes in her black bodysuit, armed to the teeth and overflowing with exuberance.<br/><br/>"Hello, you must be Bramble. Nice to meet you."  The young heroine looks over the new arrival, and finds that her quick examination is answered by Arcadia's own appraising gaze.  She seems to notice something in Arcadia's hesitation, and so continues almost without pause, extending her hand while saying, "My name is Apex. I am - or rather, was - the point man for all of one mission. Hopefully, you can take over that particular duty."<br/><br/><em>"Come on self, just say something."</em><br/><br/>"You know, if you'd say that you were 'on point' instead, you could avoid the awkwardness of describing a woman as a 'point man'."<br/><br/><em>"Really, Self? <strong>THAT</strong> is how you're going to introduce yourself to the team!?"</em>For a moment, Arcadia feels utterly out of her depth.  There's an awkward pause, and for that fraction of a moment, Arcadia allows herself to feel intimidated.  The two women are both have dark hair, and both stand with the athletic grace of practiced fighters, but the similarity ends there.  It is easy to see herself as the inferior.  Where Apex is tall and shapely, Bramble is shorter, almost stocky, with an altogether more utilitarian physique.<br/><br/>But Arcadia doesn't let herself feel dispirited for more than half a moment.  She draws on Mitchell grit, shakes her head to clear it, arranges her face into a smile, and takes Apex's extended hand.<br/><br/>"Sorry about that.  First day jitters, I guess.  I am Bramble, but you can just call me Kady.  And if you need somebody to stand on the front line and mix it up, I'm glad to be of service."