Quill looked at herself in the mirror.

Usually she would be jealous of all the other women on the Strip, their breasts always looking three sizes above 'Totally fake', their clothes clinging close to their seemingly perfect flesh and their wonderfully styled hair cascading down their shoulders. Whereas Quill's breasts barely made an impression in anything she wore, her leather armour adding bulk to where any other woman would be ashamed to have it, and her hair a messy clump on her head.

She inspected her face; again, she would usually compare herself to the beautiful New Vegas residents. Sure, other women had freckles and moles too, but the women's faces looked even more attractive with them. Quill had dozens upon dozens of dark freckles littering her face; there was one right in her hairline, two near the corner of her mouth and another nearly in the middle of her chin. Quill slicked her unruly eyebrows into place, paying close attention to her eyes. There was nothing noticeable about them. Like every other person of Asian descent, her eye sockets were almond shaped and her irises a dull brown. Her nose stuck up in the air, so anyone who talked to her could see up her nostrils. While her thin lips curled into a perpetual frown. Quill envied the Vegas Smiles, those lush smirks and grins that always seemed to imprint themselves into her mind.

She also, unlike any other New Vegas resident, had scars. The one she received from Maria upset her most out of any other. Quill poked the pale scar tissue, thinking about how it would never fade.

Quill took a step back so that she could see her naked form fully. She brushed her fingers over one of the many blemishes that dotted her stomach, then looking down to her knees, observing the way they wobbled as she walked. She then bent down to pat her legs, her hairy, bulky legs.

Usually, Quill would be depressed about her looks. She would sulk around in a bad mood or even cry sometimes, if she felt vulnerable, all the while wishing she could look like a beautiful, New Vegas woman.

Tonight, however, was different.

Tonight, she walked to one of her closets, pulling out her Legion outfit. She had shot a Decanus in his sleep for it. Quill brushed the feathered helmet, wondering where the Legion would get white and red feathers from, and put it aside. She pulled the underclothes out as her face screwed up. Did Legionaries ever wash their uniforms? The uniform had giant stains everywhere, most of them blood, some of them a substance she couldn't recognise. Quill pulled the red fabric over her head as she gaged from its smell. She systematically laced up the rest of the armour, finally stopping to inspect herself in the mirror as she held the former Decanus' leather gloves. The uniform was looser than expected, the red clothes just reaching her knees and like Quill knew the armour would, it covered any bumps of her physique.

Quill smirked at herself, dismantling the armour and quickly shoving it into her backpack, as she shrugged her Jailhouse Rocker outfit on. For the first time since waltzing into New Vegas, she was happy.

Tonight, she was happy about how she looked.

Tonight, she was happy about why she looked like a Legionary.

Tonight, she was going to kill Caesar.