Maria Marjorie Moretti despised coerced physical activity.

She absolutely [i]despised[/i] it.

Which, understandably, made her entirely unsuited for "basic training", or whatever the hell the government was calling the torture facility known as Camp Toccoa. Maria's opinion of the government, in general, was quite low. Aside from the fact that she had spent the entirety of her life breaking the law, Maria was resentful of the fact that [i]anyone[/I] could have power over her. [i]I already have to deal with this whole giving-birth-to-a-girl bullshit,[/i] she thought. [i]Why must I put up with more men telling me what to do?[/i] Indeed, Maria had discovered that there was only one thing that had remained constant thus far in her life: men were continually screwing her over (or [i]she[/i] was screwing [i]them[/i], but that was beside the point). There were the scumbags in London who had robbed her mother and effectively sealed Maria's fate as a, well, [i]whore[/i], and then there was her father, who was an utter [i]fool[/i], and on top of that, there were the policemen and judges and military officers who all decided that Maria would be best used in an effort to fight yet another goddamn [i]man[/i].

Needless to say, Maria tended to despise certain types men as much as she despised coerced physical activity.

The worst were the men who had too much power and knew it-they were the ones whose hands were the roughest, whose kisses were the greediest (and the sloppiest), whose slaps were the hardest. They were the ones who saw Maria as simply another being created for their pleasure, and they would always see her like that, even if she was wearing a priceless silk gown and dripping in diamonds. Those men were bastards who would tear that beautiful, beautiful silk to shreds in seconds without a second thought.

And those were the men who always, always, [i]always[/i] underestimated Maria. Needless to say, Maria took great pleasure in killing them by kissing them without the extra layer of lipstick that served to protect the clients from the poison in her saliva.

Aside from her vendetta against the men who'd taken her life away from her, Maria resented the government because she thought that their current plan was completely stupid. 

[i]Really, now,[/i] Maria thought scornfully. [i]Send me to Germany, and I'll find a military officer or someone of equal importance to associate myself with, then I'll kiss Adolf Hitler on the lips. Problem solved. I'm wasted in the battlefield; what good are my abilities going to do against bombs and gunfire?[/I] Fighting a war was such a messy business, what with dead bodies and blood and pieces of shrapnel going everywhere, and Maria wanted no part in it. Bloodstains were [i]impossible[/i] to remove from silk-Maria knew that much from her time with Alessandro Rossini. 

There were only two other women in the unit; Belasy and Zhanna. Belasy didn't say much, and Zhanna seemed like she was [i]happy[/i] to be there. Belasy had a ferocious intensity to her that made Maria want to roll her eyes. Maria had no doubt of her skill, and she supposed that the other woman had some sort of oh-so-tragic backstory, but then again-didn't they all? 

Maria mentally winced. She hated thinking about the past. Both Belasy and Zhanna seemed like the type of people who would heartily disapprove of Maria's decisions and actions, anyway, so it was best to leave that subject alone for the time being. She didn't think Belasy would offer up an explanation of her own history, and Maria would refrain from doing so as well. 

One thing that annoyed Maria to no ends, however, was the fact that the government had confiscated some of her most valued possessions. Her pistol, for instance, the one with a mother-of-pearl handle and decorated with intricate metalwork. It was a veritable work of art, in Maria's opinion, worth more than the [i]Mona Lisa[/i]. And those pigs had taken her poisoned lipstick, as well as her [i]regular[/i] lipstick. The very thought of it made Maria want to violently...well, kiss someone, sans lipstick. [i]Really, though, is the entire military run by fools? Had they not considered what would happen, should my bare lips accidentally come into contact with someone else's skin?[/i] There hadn't been any trouble so far, of course (Maria was not inclined to randomly kissing others), but there was still a risk. And Maria would have felt much better about the entire situation with some proper red lipstick on, thank you very much.

Belasy entered the medium-sized room that housed Maria and the two other women, grabbing her PT gear. Maria sighed inwardly, not bothering to look up from where she was combing her hair with her fingers. She hated everything about the place-the food, the beds, the hideous uniforms, the people, the very air she was breathing (not to mention the coerced physical activity). Yet she had no choice, unless she wanted to spend the next ten years-or more-in prison. 

After delaying for another couple of minutes, Mara finally got up, took hold of her gear, and glided out of the room to join the others for yet [i]another[/i] run up the cursed Curahee. "Glided" being a relative term, of course. It was nearly impossible to appear graceful and elegant when one is wearing a pair of boots and a military uniform, but Maria was determined to master it. She [i]did[/i] appreciate a challenge.