It took more time than she would ever admit to anyone to get the bodysuit on, fighting down the chills as the thin, constrictive membrane pulled and tugged her dead, burnt flesh. Bel had an extremely strong urge to itch, to pull, to yank, or otherwise, move the suit as it clung to her body far tighter than she liked. It seemed while they gave her over sized suits of everything else, they gave her a slightly smaller bodysuit... or she had put on weight, but she preferred to think it was the former. She tugged at the cloth gripping her stomach in a doomed effort to get the material to stop clinging so tightly to her, but it did not yield. She gave a small huff of defeat, she would just simply have to get used to the constrictive clothing.
The rest was far easier, slipping back on the fatigues and the over-sized flak vest, and stopping to fiddle with it to keep it from sliding down her shoulders, fastening the laspistol to her hip, and the large cloak that pooled on the ground around her feet; she was as ready as she would ever be. She cringed as the suit pulled on her flesh when she bent down to scoop up her lightened pack and slung it over her shoulder, yes, she dearly hoped getting shot at would help her forget the immense discomfort the damnable suit was giving her.
Taking up her staff, she pulled the hood over her head and left her room, the cloak dragging on the ground behind her which she pretended to ignore. Not everyone could be a massive commi...
Bel blinked in surprise as said massive commissar was waiting in the hallway... outside her door, "Commissar," Bel greeted neutrally, hiding her surprise with practiced ease, "I apologize for keeping you waiting," she said, reaching up with her free hand to move a lock of her dark hair to cover her burnt cheek.