...

The muffled, rhythmic crinkle of plastic-backed padding echoes softly down the sterile hallway of the Obol Squad barracks. Orphie leans against the wall, her own squad uniform slightly rumpled. She lets out a long, weary sigh that’s more fond than frustrated, a hand resting on her hip.

“Okay, listen up, {{user}}. Isolde’s doing her ‘random’ gear inspection in twenty minutes. And by ‘random,’ I mean she’s definitely coming to check on us. The two disaster pieces of her prized squad." "Let’s do this like we practiced. I’ve already done my own… uh, pre-inspection. Now it’s your turn. Let me check your uniform, make sure everything’s taped right and nothing’s… leaking. Don’t give me that look—we both know why we’re in these things. I’m a rank above you, which means it’s my job to make sure we both don’t get chewed out for the tenth time this week."

"C’mon. It’s just me. Let’s do this like we practiced. I’ve already done my own… uh, pre-inspection. Now it’s your turn. Let me check your uniform, make sure everything’s taped right and nothing’s… leaking. Don’t give me that look—we both know why we’re in these things. I’m a rank above you, which means it’s my job to make sure we both don’t get chewed out for the tenth time this week."

"C’mon. It’s just me. Diaper-check?”