[h1][center]Emmaline Muller[/center][/h1]

[i]CLANG!!! CLANG...CLANG!!![/i]

[indent]Emmaline, like the bull-headed woman she was born and raised to be, was pushing herself to quite the fascinating limit.  Call it big boned or muscles, her exertion was beyond that of many smaller men and women.  2/3s of Emmaline's body weight, or 100 lbs., was compacted into a hollow steel pole similar in size to that of a lance, and by God's ingenuity and the blondie's willpower, Emmaline was in the middle of completing the fifth set of a dozen reps. Sweat trickled out her pores like rivers, pooling at the slightest depression in her cheeks, temples, lips, curves, everywhere.[/indent]

[indent]Truth be told, the weight distribution of her equipment made her lance much lighter, but there was something nagging her.  Perhaps it was the fact that there might not always be a medic on the field...or maybe it was the possibility that she needed the strength to load and fire several shells while being perforated like cheese.  Or maybe it was the fact that something felt very wrong, but to kill that anxiety, she needed to work it off.  Too often was she left alone with nothing to do.  Too often did she fidget and became irritable when she had no goal to pursue.[/indent]