predatory

Walking down the sidewalk with one earbud in, Missy Biron brushed her wavy blonde hair behind her ear from where the wind had whipped it against her face. She kept an eye on the crowd around her, but given that it was just after school, middle of the day, and she was walking home from the bus stop near Arcadia—well within the PRT and Protectorate patrol zone? Someone would have to be either stoned or stupid to try something in this neighborhood. The only place where it was a worse idea was in Empire territory—if only because troublemakers had a bad habit of 'disappearing' and never resurfacing.

After a long day of school and tests (fucking finals), she was worn down mentally—drained and in need of a nap. But no. She had extracurricular activities this afternoon.

By which she meant Missy was going to be in her room 'studying' while the Ward Vista patrolled the Boardwalk and other heavily policed areas looking for puppies up trees, kittens stealing candy from babies, and maybe if hell froze over she might get lucky enough to smack down watch a purse snatcher get smacked down because Vista certainly wouldn't be allowed to do any smacking—down or otherwise.

I'm so boooooored! Missy screamed in the privacy of her own mind. Let me do something already! Summer break coming up and if this is what I have to look forward to, I'm going to die of boredom. Damnit Piggy, stop being a pigheaded bitch! I just wish something exciting would happen.

And because it was Brockton Bay, cape violence capital of the U.S. in the same way Chicago was normie murder capital of the U.S., Missy actually paused—looking around to see if Murphy would oblige. When nothing happened, she sighed the sigh of the damned (read: bored) and kept walking, ignoring the strange looks she'd gotten from those around her on the sidewalk for just stopping like she had.

She almost didn't hear the noise. Not-noise. It wasn't so much a noise as a lack of noise and a noise at the same time, if that made sense. Accompanied by some change in the local air pressure—like someone opening a door in a house and being able to feel the pressure change throughout the whole house. Then something crashed and squished in the alley she'd just walked past between a cafe and a donut shop, causing her to stop again as her instincts and experience told her shit just got real. She didn't know how, but something was… afoot.

Turning back towards the alley, she pulled out her earbud, stepped off the safety of the street, and looked around. Missy had had a couple of years to hone her parahuman ability to make space her bitch and had picked up a few tricks in her tenure as a Ward—three years since she triggered at the ripe young age of eleven. One of those was the ability to theoretically extend a field of distorted space around herself and use the resultant go/no-go as a sort of biological radar. Her power was Manton Limited and wouldn't let her warp living things, so by suggesting to her power that she intended to warp space around herself without actually doing so, she could detect where living beings were.

She was not surprised at all to find a rat the size of a small dog scampering out from under a dumpster towards, not away from her feet, and punted the thing when it got close. The rat squealed as it flew away and she wondered for a moment if that was the source of the noise she heard. Something rattled nearby and her spatial sense registered it as living. Moving closer, she peeked around an overturned garbage can expecting another rat. What Missy found was a… puddle? Of motor oil?

The oil moved. Quivered in the warm air of the alley.

Nope! Missy had seen that movie, thank you very much. She leapt back and looped space around the puddle of who knows what after making sure no one was looking. She grabbed her Wards phone from her pocket and prepared to speed dial but held off for the moment.

The puddle remained right where it was. Though it did… perk up? The flat surface of it broke and stretched, extending a sort of pseudopod or periscope? that twitched in the air, turning this way and that, before centering on her. Then, the thing stretched, testing the confines of the looped space she had trapped it in.

HELP!

Missy blinked as she watched black goo rise out of the puddle and spell out a word in English. Complete with punctuation. Holy fuck, she blinked again, a smile coming to her lips as she realized that she may just have found a reprieve from her boredom and the monotony that was school, Wards, and her shitty home life.

"You're alive."

YES.

"So you're a Case-53, right? Parahuman with a non-standard body?"

WTF?!

Missy made a quiet snerk sound as she smothered a snort. Moving closer to the puddle, she dropped into a squat, mindful not to let her skirt ride up. "Where are you from—"

And then the puddle went nuts, flashing words too fast for her to read. "Whoa! Slow down! I can't read when you shape things that fast."

The puddle bubbled and spiked, and Missy wondered if that was how it—he? She? Fuck it, it's an 'it' until it specifies otherwise, she decided. She wondered if that was how it showed irritation. Or anger. Frustration maybe. She knew she'd be pretty fucking frustrated to find herself suddenly turned into a puddle of black goo. How can I simplify this? One word answers would be easiest I think.

"I'm going to ask simple questions. I'll try for yes/no questions and we can go from there. Is that okay?"

YES.

"Okay then. First, for the sake of curiosity—and because I'm tired of thinking of you as 'it' or a puddle—are you male, female, or some kind of other Baskin Robin's 51 flavors of special snowflake thing?"

(M)

Missy laughed. "So, from what I understand, Case-53s are all amnesiacs according to scuttlebutt. Do you know—no, can you remember… everything you're supposed to? Ugh, words fail me."

Yes.

Well, he was no longer typing with cruise control on, so it was a start. "Huh. That's different. A few more questions, then. First: you're not some murder hobo, rapist, or other criminal, right?"

No.

"Do you want me to take you to the PRT to get—" before Missy could even finish, the puddle had spawned a word.

FUCK.

"—help?"

NO.

"No PRT then," Missy confirmed, and the puddle reiterated its point by underlining and circling the 'NO.' Humming quietly, she considered the situation and its potential ramifications…

Eh, fuck it.

"Well, you're pretty much up shit creek out here on your own. It's not much, but if you don't cause trouble, you can stay with me for a few days."

Slowly, one word at a time, it formed a sentence.

I could be dangerous.

"Maybe," Missy agreed. "But who's the one trapped in looped space?"

Point.

"Thought so." Opening up her backpack, she dug out her metal lunchbox—one with Eidolon on the front. What? Don't laugh. She liked the green! "Get in."

As soon as she dropped her spatial warping, the puddle of black slime rolled over the alley between them and climbed into the lunchbox. It wasn't slimy or wet, but he did leave a trail in his wake—a trail of cleaned concrete where he had slicked across. She closed the lid but didn't lock it. "Alright, I'm going home. Keep still and quiet. I'll knock twice when it's safe. Knock if you got all that." The slime-53 knocked on the side of the lunchbox. "Great."

Sliding the box back into her backpack, she zipped it up and hurried back out of the alley. With a skip in her step, she made her way home.

…Only to immediately lose the pep in her step upon coming home to find her parents arguing in the living room. Ignoring them and likewise being ignored, Missy made her way to her room and quietly closed the door before throwing the deadbolt she'd installed home. Looking around her room, she bit her lip as she considered her living space.

It wasn't 'girly' at all. Missy just wasn't interested in most of the things her 'peers' were. Not that those vapid cunts can be considered peers.

There was not a speck of pink, purple, rainbows, unicorns, dolls, no boy band posters, no drug paraphernalia, and no clutter. Looking at it now, she realized that it was really… Spartan. Wine red carpet, light brown walls and ceiling, brown ceiling fan with light fixture. There was her bed, with its forest green silk sheets and the comforter on top of it in an even darker shade of green. A desk in the corner served for doing homework and working on her laptop when she wanted to browse the internet. She didn't own a TV or a game console because everything she wanted to watch and every game she wanted to play was on the computer, so she'd never asked for either.

She had a solitary dresser where most of her clothes were neatly folded and put away. Those that weren't in the dresser were hanging in her closet. Her dirty clothes, what few there were, were all in a laundry hamper beside the dresser. To the other side of the dresser was a full-length mirror.

It's really… just the place I sleep now, she realized. Her room with the Wards was more personalized and felt more like home.

Shaking her head, she set her bag gently on the bed and moved over to the computer. Unlocking the screen, she opened a browser to a video site, opened a stream for music that didn't suck (in other words, it came from Aleph), and cranked the volume—as she tended to do when her parents were arguing when she got home. Moving back to the bed, she opened the bag and fished out her lunch box. Knocking twice, she popped it open and found the man-turned-puddle waiting inside. "Hey again. Sorry about the music. My parents won't hear us like this though."

A pseudopod… tentacle? That's a fucking tentacle, Missy realized. A fucking tentacle stretched out from the puddle and surveyed the room somehow, before locking on her computer. Slithering out of her lunch box, he hurried across the floor, up her chair, and straight to her laptop and the mouse beside it. Almost faster than she could track, smaller individual tentacles popped out and began typing rapid-fire in a short burst. The menu on her computer opened up before running the basic text editor, Writepad.

Then, the puddle-man began typing rapidly.

Oh sweet Christ. Thank fuc [backspace, left arrow, left arrow, backspace] Thankfully, I can still type.

Missy chuckled, pulling out her chair and sitting down. "You can say 'fuck' around me. Promise I've heard worse. So, what's your name, Mr. Puddle Man?"

Miles Luster.

"So, normal—"

Your name is Missy.

Missy blinked.

Also known as Vista. Of the Wards. Arcadia High School.

"How the fuck—"

IIRC, your teammates are as follows:

Clockblocker's name is Dennis. He can stop time for people or objects for a semi-random interval.

The fake knight is Dean. He senses emotions and can shoot blasts of minor kinetic force and emotions.

Aegis is Carlos. He's some kind of not-quite regenerator brute with flight. I want to say something like organ redundancy.

Kid Win is… I forget his name. Tinker, specialization in… uh… modularity, I think it was decided.

Shadow Stalker is Sophie Hess. Her power is being a bitch and phasing. Being a bitch is the stronger of her two powers.

For all that she felt creeping horror, Missy still had it in her to chuckle faintly at the dig. "Firstly, you missed one and it looks like you're one over. Triumph—"

Rory. Roar-y. He's got a sound-based power. He's the mayor's kid.

…You don't have Hess?

"No Hess, or Shadow Stalker. Christ on a cracker," Missy muttered. "Okay, seriously, how the fuck do you know that?"

I [backspace]

Consider it a one-shot precog [backspace]

hrm.

"Well?"

Comforting lie or terrible truth?

"Truth," Missy answered immediately.

I was kidnapped from another world, shot up with alien space whale juice, and melted into a sentient puddle of black goo.

Missy simply nodded. "I can see that. I mean, this is Earth-Bet, after all. We know there are other worlds out there. So you're from Aleph?"

Omega. As in so far outside your 'local cluster' of universes that it's not using the same naming scheme.

As in 'the end.'

We didn't have powers where I was from. Derived from aliens or otherwise. What we did have was a whole bunch of media centered around stories about people with powers. Comics, manga, anime, movies, tv, books, video games, shitty web novels, and so on.

Your world was one such work of fiction. I don't have or remember all the details, because the story sucked and I gave up halfway through before just skipping straight to fanfiction, but I have enough.

"So when you said 'alien space whale juice' you weren't joking."

No.

You don't have powers.

You have a parasite.

Missy shuddered, feeling suddenly ill. "That's fucked up. So, what can we do about it?"

Fuck all.

If things go generally as I saw, forget circling the drain, this world's already halfway down the shitter.

Here's the short version:

Scion is an alien.

And the fact that we're not dead shows he's not watching or doesn't care.

His entire race are a bunch of barely-sapient idiots with more power than sense.

They use worlds as test tubes to figure out new and interesting uses for their powers or stolen technology against other space whales.

The powers are controlled by 'shards.' Those are basically giant pieces of the host creature, each run by individual AI that seek out a host who's in a bad spot, dole out limited 'powers,' and push their hosts towards conflict in order to generate more data.

Then, when they're done, they collect the shards.

This kills the parahuman. Or whatever they're attached to.

And just to cover their tracks, they destroy the host system and every world they've got access to and move on to the next target.

Scion, or Zion. His mate, Eden, died. Interference from a third alien space whale, supposedly—followed by crash landing on a planet and a lobotomy by the Boogyman.

And the fact that we're not dead shows she's not watching or doesn't care.

He's in a years-long mope, but as soon as he snaps out of it, we're all dead.

Missy read, and as she read the sounds of her parents arguing, music playing, keys clacking, the constant susurrus of traffic going by outside… it all faded into a dull background whisper. There is nothing we can do. No, there has to be something.

"How," her throat didn't quite work the first time. Swallowing on a parched throat, she worked up some saliva and tried again. "How did it end?"

Billions dead across multiple universes.

Scion dead.

The protagonist given a muzzle-velocity lobotomy to remove her powers and dumped off in another universe, left for dead.

It should have ended there, but the author decided that wasn't bad enough, so he kept going.

The shards went crazy, people started merging with their shards and transforming into pseudo-Endbringers.

More people died.

The heroes and former villains tried to hold it all together, but it was… the turd that refuses to flush. You know it's going down, it's just a matter of how many flushes it's going to take.

And then, as the shit cherry on top of this shit layer cake? It was theorized that Scion's death scream that corrupted the shards would draw all the other space worms down on every Earth they touched.

Missy felt faint. Nope. Nevermind. We're fucked. Even if we 'win,' we're fucked.

Her phone ringing drew her attention away from her computer. Fishing her Wards phone out of her pocket, she answered it stiffly. "Hello?"

"Vista? Hey, it's Kid Win. I'm running Console today. I saw you were scheduled for a patrol and hadn't shown up. Piggy's starting to wonder where you are. I thought I'd call and ask before she made it official."

"Tell her I don't feel well," Missy said absently, her tone sounding off even to her own ears.

"Uh, I don't think that's going to cut it—"

Missy snapped. "Chris, you tell that fat cunt I'm on the rag and cramping like Leviathan and Lung are duking it out in my uterus and using my ovaries as wrecking balls."

The boy on the other end of the phone spluttered. "Whu— Uh? Should we send Panacea?"

"Fuck no," Missy growled.

At the same time, she noticed Miles typing again.

Fuck no. No Panacea. She's a good girl, but she's on a hair trigger.

No PRT. No Protectorate. No capes. They can't be trusted to find their assholes with both hands, a flashlight, and a map. What they don't fuck up, they shit on.

Also, they leak like a sieve. ABB, Empire, Coil, pretty much everyone in town has inside contacts.

"Listen, I'll be fine. Just need a hot water bottle, some paid meds, and for everyone to leave me the fuck alone." Taking a calming breath, she quietly added, "I'm not mad at you. Thanks for calling."

"S-sure, Missy. See you in school tomorrow?"

"Maybe," she grunted. "Goodnight Chris."

Hanging up, she powered her phone off. Dropping the phone on her desk, she groaned. "So how'd we 'win?'"

One in a million chance that probably won't happen here. But… I might have some ideas for averting it and pulling a win anyway. Pyrrhic as it may be.

"Mm," Missy hummed, studying the puddle molesting using her laptop. I wonder what he feels like.

Still reeling from the information Miles had dumped on her, she didn't bother thinking the impulse through—she just acted on it. Reaching out, she touched the puddle. It was warm, and where her finger made contact it tingled—straight up her finger, up her spine, and to places that made her briefly shudder. Pulling back, the black liquid-like person clinging to her skin like he didn't quite want to let go either, she examined her finger. "What was that? It felt… really good."

No idea.

And yeah, that felt strange, but… right somehow. Like my power's supposed to work with or on another person.

That perked Missy up and gave her something to focus on other than the inevitable end of the world as we know it. She was both a cape and a cape geek. Powers were fascinating… even if they were just doled out by a parasite. It's not like they chose to be used as lab rats. "Want to try it?"

Are you sure?

I haven't had my powers for a full day and they're obviously from a dead shard, so I have no idea how safe this is. My bet's going to be on 'not very.'

"'Safe?' The world could end tomorrow if golden boy decides to snap his fingers and call it done. Endbringers could decide to shit all over everything. Hell, this is Brockton Bay—we've got Lung, Kaiser, and Skidmark and the idiots that work for them running loose and any one of them could suddenly decide they're done fucking around and start shooting. And you're worried about what's 'safe?' Don't be a pussy."

There is a difference between justifiable caution—that is, self-preservation instinct—and just blindly rushing into things.

You're eleven—

"Thirteen," Missy growled. "I'm small for my age."

…That's not canon.

No, wait. What year is it?

"2010. Why?"

Definitely not canon. You're about two years older than you should be.

Let me run some things by you.

Skitter?

Bakuda?

Undersiders?

Humming, Missy shook her head. "Haven't heard of the first two. The last one is more of a rumor. No one's sure they're actually a thing, or who all is involved. It's mostly just unsubstantiated rumors on PHO spread by some troll account. Now, stop trying to distract me." Glaring at the puddle, she reached down and picked it up.

Warm, black not-fluid spread over her hands and rushed up her arms. That tingle grew and her breathing hitched, then caught in her throat as it leapt up from her arms, flowed up past her elbows, and ran under her sleeves. She could feel it under her clothes, sliding across her body in a way that felt… absolutely delicious.

It crossed her chest, flowing over her small breasts, her rock hard nipples, around her back. Down her flat, toned stomach, over her hips, across the firm muscle and down the cleft of her ass, over her shaved mound, over and around her bare lips where it clung tightly. Over toned thighs and calves to her sensitive feet, and between every toe. Up her neck, around the back of her head, over and through her hair, over her ears, pausing briefly in a rough circle that left her eyes, ears, and mouth exposed as it trembled against her skin… And then in a flash, over her mouth, nose, and eyes—covering her face entirely.

She opened her mouth and gasped, and then it was pouring into her mouth, up her nose, flooding past the lips of her absolutely soaked snatch and filling her up in a way her vibrator couldn't, into her urethra and anus—every hole she had. She distantly realized that the tingle was probably the person-turned-puddle unconsciously working at her pores. She was vaguely aware that it should probably hurt, or at least be uncomfortable to try to swallow, inhale, and be impaled everywhere that mattered all at the same time—and yet it didn't. But by then she was too far gone to care.

Missy thrashed in her chair as she came, eyes rolling back in her head as her mind was simply overloaded, and the world went black.

The blonde came to with a desperate gasp of air, jerking up in her chair so hard that she fell to the floor and send the rolling chair crashing back onto the floor. Blinking groggily, she struggled to pull herself up and looked at the clock. It read 8:44p.m., about four hours since she passed out, give or take. Or did I just fall asleep in my chair?

"I warned you this was a bad idea."

"Not a dream," she slurred, the words coming out more as 'nodda dreem.'

'Nope. Come on, let's get you into bed,' the voice in her ears said, and she found her body moving outside her control—much more fluidly than it had a moment before. She moved over to the bed and sprawled out across it. Missy felt like she could move on her own again and took a deep breath.

"Wha happn?"

"You did something reckless and stupid, that's what. My power reacted and I couldn't control it. Good news is, I'm figuring it out. It's… very similar to something I'm familiar with. A couple of things, really. I'll have to play with it. Short version: I'm inside you. At every level. Bones, blood, brain—I'm touching everything."

Closing her eyes, Missy allowed her body to relax and just breathed deeply for a few minutes. When she felt the world stop spinning, she asked, "So what can you do? Besides Master my body."

"Sorry about that—"

"My fault. You warned me."

"I'm not entirely sure what I can do. Going to need some testing. If I'm right though, this should be fun. Why don't you go get something to eat and go to sleep? We can do tests tomorrow—"

Missy snorted softly and levered herself into a sitting position. When the world didn't spin out from under her, she got up from the bed and started stripping down. "Fuck that. I've got the night off, I'm not tired, and I feel fine. Let's go test this stuff out."

Once she was down to her underwear, and after tossing her skirt, blouse, and socks into the laundry hamper, she opened up her dresser and pulled out a set of tight jeans, a tee-shirt, and a clean set of socks.

"I want to try something."

Missy paused. "Now?"

"Yeah."

The girl nodded, dropping her clothes onto her bed. "Go ahead."

"This may feel weird."

Before she could ask what 'this' was, the black goo was back. It rushed out of her pores and spread across her skin before pulling tight. It covered everything from the neck down, clung to her like a second skin, and felt so very comfortably warm. Turning to her full-length mirror, she raised an eyebrow as she saw her body was solid black from the neck down. It looked less like a body suit and more like someone had coated her in paint. She was absolutely sure that if she weren't wearing her bra and panties, she'd be able to see her nipples and every detail of her pussy. "Okay, that's kind of cool, and feels great… but what's it do?"

Slowly, the 'painted on' look disappeared and faded into her normal skin tone. She could still feel the layer of Miles over her body—and oddly, feel it over her bra and panties as though she could feel through his material—but she couldn't see any sort of difference between where her flesh ended and his began. The only thing that stood out was… "I look like a Barbie doll," she pointed out, rolling her eyes at the mirror as the stuff over her had taken on her skin tone atop her bra and underwear, leaving her looking strangely neuter, in a way that tripped her Uncanny Valley sense, especially since it was herself she was looking at.

"Oops. Hang on," the parahuman puddle muttered in her ear, before she felt the goo around her chest and crotch shift, creeping under the underwear and cupping her supple body.

Missy's eyes went half-lidded at the touch, her pussy growing warm and moist. Pulling her mind away from her teen libido, she studied herself in the mirror. Now that he wasn't covering her underwear and making her look like a living doll, Missy couldn't tell he was even there. "Better."

"Let me just…"

Missy's skin tone slowly shifted, from a healthy white and pink with a few freckles and scars, to flawless white and not a hint of a freckle or scar. Then, her skin darkened. It was gradual, but over the course of a minute or so she went from creamy pale to summer tan, to overbaked, and darker. It stopped just at the darkest end of the spectrum for Caucasian before reversing back to 'summer tan.'

Something wriggled beneath her feet before she lifted up a full inch and a half. Pulling up one foot showed a sort of sole on the bottom of her foot. It clearly looked unnatural, but if she took it as proof of concept, it was the beginnings of a shoe…

She felt the goo rush out of her face, leaving her head temporarily covered entirely in black goo that she could somehow see and breathe through. Then, it shifted to match her skin and settled down against her body. It covered even her eyes, but she couldn't tell by looking. Her hair looked weirdly fleshy, but after a bit of wriggling around, she felt the goo somehow pull tight around every individual hair before shifting to match her natural hair color.

Missy's eyebrows raised when her hair then shifted through every natural color of the spectrum—from blonde, to strawberry blonde, red, ginger, brown, black, gray, white. Then it started taking on the sort of colors typically found in dye as it rotated through the full ROYGBIV spectrum. Not only that, but it began growing out and forming different styles. "Yeah, this is… pretty neat."

"Not done yet," the man sounded amused.

The layer of pseudo-flesh over her face shifted, growing slightly denser all over, before shifting in general shape—denser here, flatter there, wider or narrower. Missy watched as her body morphed through several different faces, each one different from the last.

Then, Miles put it all together. Her skin and face shifted color, from tanned Caucasian, to light through dark Asian of different faces and races (she recognized a few looks as distinctly Chinese or Japanese, for instance), to negroid of light skin down through night black. There were even a few mixes thrown in there for good measure. One thing she did notice though was that her skull and jaw shape never truly changed much—never taking on the slope or other features it probably should have. Some of the changes only passed at a glance, but wouldn't pass muster under close inspection, in other words. Still impressive though.

On the other hand, probably a good thing. Don't want to try to change my skull shape and accidentally squish my brain. That would be bad.

Then it shifted back to her normal 'Missy' look, blemishes and all. "Oh my fuck, your power is 'Changer/Stranger: yes.'"

"I think I can do clothes and more too, but I'm missing something. There's just not enough of me. Not enough mass. And I'm getting hungry."

"Right, yeah. That makes as much sense as anything alien power related," Missy agreed. Quickly grabbing up her clothes off the bed, she pulled them on, slipped into her shoes, and grabbed her wallet—because she refused to carry a purse full of clutter.

Considering her phones, she decided against taking either her personal or Wards phone. The Wards phone was definitely tracked, but she'd have to be an idiot to believe they weren't also tracking her personal cell. If one left home without the other, they'd know she was sneaking out. And if she started doing fun things, they would figure out she was moonlighting. That was the last thing Missy wanted.

On the other hand, Missy was smart. Opening the top drawer of her desk, she reached under neath it, between the drawer and the desk. Fishing out a pocket knife she had confiscated as Vista, she flicked it open and powered off per personal cell. Once it was off, she pried the battery out then removed the SIM card. Powering the phone back on after throwing the battery back in, she set it for airplane mode. Without the SIM and with the software set not to try to connect, it shouldn't give away her location. Satisfied that it was good enough, she pocketed the phone.

Actually, why not take this whole 'sneaking around' thing a step further?

A slight thrill ran through her body at the prospect. "Hey Miles, think you can give me a new face once we're outside?"

"Sure. Probably shouldn't have Vista's civvie identity running around when she's supposed to be home anyway. It'd be bad if someone from the Wards or Protectorate spotted us."

"Thanks," Missy grinned. Shutting off her computer's music, she locked the screen, grabbed her keys to the home, and left her room.

"I'm going out," she called quietly. Neither of her parents answered from their separate rooms. Frowning, she pushed the thought from her mind and left the apartment behind. As soon as she was in the hallway, she felt her face and hair shift, along with the skin over her whole body. Stepping into the elevator, she selected the ground floor. The elevator closed and she studied herself in the reflection cast by the doors. Nicely tanned skin, pretty Caucasian face in a way that reminded her of the 'preppy' girls. Long, light blonde hair as opposed to her shorter, naturally darker blonde. Bright blue eyes instead of her dark green. Full, pouty lips that made her want to kiss them, and she didn't really have a thing for girls.

She was left seriously considering asking Miles to stick around, just for the side benefits.