Nyssa looks at the big clock on the far wall. 7:46AM. She’s one minute late today. Every morning for the past six months - well, every morning Nyssas been on shift, so she’s just assuming about the other days - she’s passed by at exactly 7:45AM, always at a brisk walk, always in a perfectly-tailored suit, not a single long, silky-looking hair out of place. The suits are a bunch of different colors, but she seems to prefer blue. Dark blue. Medium blue. Baby blue (that one’s Nyssas favorite). Lots of blue. 7:47AM. The crisp clack of heeled boots on concrete pulls Nyssas attention to the sidewalk. There must have been some sort of emergency, because the subject of Nyssa’s (minor) obsession walks past the fire station at a faster clip than normal. That's sort of saying something, because Mystery Woman’s got legs for days, long and slender, visibly toned with long, lean muscle through her suit pants. At the faster clip, Nyssa has less time to admire her ass and tiny, tiny waist as she walks by, but pants. At the faster clip, Nyssa has less time to admire her ass and tiny, tiny waist as she walks by, but look better than any woman has the right to look. She’s there and then gone, and Nyssa feels a little sad to see her leave (though the view as she does is fucking fantastic). Nyssa finishes getting her coffee, which she does every morning she’s on shift at about 7:40AM, since the “Caffeination Station” - which is labeled with a brightly-colored homemade sign, courtesy of Felicity - is right near the front of the fire house and, therefore, gives her a great view of the sidewalk, and the perfect excuse to not look like a total creep. “What’s the rush Tiny?” Nyssa asked kindly as she watched the other woman flinch adding “Autistic yeah? Omega?”