Allemande Conner, 5'10, skinny as a rod-- so much so that you could see her ribs through her tank top-- and blonde hair that reached to her waist, was not one to be messed with. She was clearly malnourished, but in the line up of choices, she may have been the only one who had any sort of appearance of being able to get the job done. She was sure of it. She tried to stand tall and straight and look confident. She wanted to be chosen-- to finally get a ticket off the rock she had been living on and make her way up the proverbial food chain.
She wasn't weak. She could wrestle down 50% of the other men in the line up and 75% of the women. She watched the roving eyes of the mercenaries as they chose their pick. One came up to her.
"What's your name?" he asked, his voice gruff and condescending. She cocked her head at him.
"Allemande Conner," she said firmly. He nodded, sizing her up.
"I worked as a miner on the colony of Geoalba for most of my life. I have basic survival skills and can swing a pickax for hours and safely operate a mining laser," she said, smiling at him slyly. He narrowed his eyes, then gestured for her to let him feel her arm. She complied and flexed as he felt her muscle. He frowned.
"That seems unlikely, considering your nourishment," he said finally. She shrugged.
"How about considering my muscles?" she asked. He nodded.
"You have a point," he looked conflicted for a moment, before nodding again. "We'll take you. You'll be just the thing for a mission we need."
She prevented herself from exulting too much. She exhaled and smirked at him. "Yes sir," she said.
"Get your bags and--"
"I don't have any sir," she said. "I come as I am."
"How old are you?" he asked.
He sighed and muttered a curse. "This is going to be a lot of work," he said, glancing back up at her. She twisted her lips to the side and furrowed her brow.
"I can do whatever it is," she said.
"I'm sure you can," he said, smirking at her. "You're just going to have to get into shape first. Meet me at docking bay 4 in an hour and we'll discuss the job and pay. For now, let's start with your hair and name. I'll never get my associates to take you on--"
"What's wrong with my hair?" she asked, straightening and grabbing it.
"Nothing. Except you won't cut for a very good mercenary with long flowing blonde hair. Chop it off. To your chin, if you can. Appearances count for a lot, despite how inaccurate they can be. From here on out, you'll be Alle," he said. She scowled but he walked off before she could protest. She left the line up and glanced around for a barber shop before frowning to herself. She didn't even have money to get a hair cut. She could steal a gun and use the laser.
She paused. She was actually considering cutting her hair because some jerk told her to? She frowned. No, she wouldn't. She glanced around at the random bags thrown on the floor as people waited for rides or jobs. One was clearly a woman's. Allemande could see hair accessories in the front pouch. In a smooth move she tripped over the bag, then, pretending to help herself stand up, she took a few hair ties out of the bag, then moved on. Nobody appeared to have noticed.
Like heck she was going to cut her hair.
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