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[b]PRT Headquarters, 8:37AM
June 19, 2021[/b]
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[color=00aeef]"Thanks. See you later"[/color]

Jen didn't hear her father's response, as she suddenly entered freefall, her momentum carrying her almost weightlessly over the surface of the road. She was already invisible long before she phased through the side of the moving car, had been the entire ride over, a caution she felt was warranted by the fact that she'd been asked to arrive in full costume. It would be rather embarrassing to be outed just because someone caught sight of her inside the car and managed to link her to the driver through one means or another.

And she had no intention of walking that far, so she'd asked her father to casually drive her past the building and simply keep going inconspicuously. She would handle the rest.

The world cast in the watery filter of her power, Jen's feet skipped over the surface of the road, as she slowly bounded to a stop outside the PRT Headquarters, one building away from her destination. All around her, the slightly distorted figures of a large crowd of reporters and journalists gathered and clamored, all of them barraging Director Foster with questions about the new Wards team. Vultures, of course, the entire lot of them. Jen had little love for the press, but unfortunately, they were creatures she now had to contend with and humor, as influential as they were in today's day and age with their gossip rags and rumor mongering, always slavering for the newest, juiciest bit of drama.

Humming to herself, Jen enjoyed a private little smirk, as she sauntered through the crowd intangibly, a ghost amongst their ranks, up to where the Director was standing. Idly checking the time on her Wards phone, Jen chuckled and put it away. Of course, she was well-aware this wasn't the place she was told to meet, but it was a rather convincing little illusion the Director was spinning. Surely, she could spare a moment to help sell it all the better? It would be she and the Director's little secret.

She waited until an awkward lull in the conversation was presented, the result of a particularly insensitive question regarding Confessor's rampage. The mood in the area had palpably dipped and grown somber, not quite able to truly recover even when the Director gave her assuaging rebuttal. On what was supposed to be a momentous day, the reestablishment of the decimated Wards team, such a thing was hardly ideal, right? Surely, this was a situation that deserved a little bit of levity?

Not that Jen particularly cared, but it was [i]Wattson's[/i] job now to reassure the public.

It cost her nothing but time, so why not?

The blue-clad Ward, Wattson, slowly faded into existence, a deliberate affection for show, as Jen allowed herself to reappear ever so slightly behind the PRT Director but well within sight of most of the cameras, one finger on her right forearm, pressed against one of the false buttons on her suit, a design choice meant to mislead -at least for now- that her power was Tinker-derived. Grinning unseen behind her full-face mask, Wattson's left hand rose in a silent shushing motion, one finger pressed against the lower half of the smooth expanse of her mask. Her armored bodysuit gleamed, glowing accents further accentuating her chosen cyberpunk aesthetic.

Her left hand lowered to her right wrist again, making a show of pressing the false button again, as she made a half-turn on her heel. She deliberately made her power fade her from sight slightly less quickly than she could have, leaving her time to take a single step towards the deeper reaches of the PRT HQ and shoot the journalists a cheeky, jaunty two-fingered salute, before she faded from detection mid-motion. If all went well, the implication of her heading deeper into the building would further sell the Director's narrative, and the carefree body language of a youth -unworried enough to "prank" their superior- would help further smooth over those proposed "child soldier" concerns. As far as the public was concerned, in this moment at least, Wattson was just another kid having a good time, her fate and happiness safe in the PRT's arms as one of the Wards.

Jen was already gone long before she could observe the results of her actions, bounding away in swift moon hops to her true destination. She was already cutting her timing rather close, and if she wanted to see the results of her little bit of PR wrangling, all she'd need to do is browse the internet later to gauge public perception. For now though, she had a schedule to keep.
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[b]Protectorate Headquarters, 8:40AM[/b]
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The temptation to ignore the security checkpoints with her power, just to make a point and be a little bit petty, was not insignificant, but Jen felt she made the overwhelmingly mature decision by weathering them. As much as she was hardly enthused to be here, there was no sense starting things off on the wrong foot and making her life harder in the future. It cost her nothing but time to do things the right way, and it was just one more way she could better her reputation with her new coworkers in order to grease the wheels of leniency in areas she was far less willing to compromise on.

Besides, protocol existed for a reason. Forgoing it was liable to lower trust between both parties, and it would further compromise the PRT's ability to counter a Stranger in the infinitesimal circumstance that someone wanted to, say, impersonate her. The better she established a pattern that was risky to replicate, the less likely even that small eventuality came to pass. And really, that was just the first of the reasonings Jen was able to throw together for why protocol wasn't an ugly concept in this situation. And the better she justified it to herself, the less it would remain an ongoing source of otherwise unnecessary irritation.

Yes, all was right with the world, and first impressions were important at any new job.

In the end, the whole process didn't even take that much time. First was a highly guarded security gate, nothing a bit of identification with her special access credentials couldn't fix. Past that, she wasn't at too much liberty to admire the expansive architecture of the heavily fortified complex, keeping her pace to a politely swift stride down a long hallway to take an elevator up to a central area on the second floor. A final security check beyond that awaited her, and Wattson dutifully jumped through the required metaphorical hoops, checking the time once more and tucking her phone back away to enter the PRTHQ's central meeting room.
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[b]Protectorate Headquarters, 8:44AM[/b]
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It seemed she was the first to arrive. And fashionably right on time to boot.

[color=00aeef]"Seems I'm the first,"[/color] Wattson said as much with a note of humor in her voice, as she raised an unseen brow at the welcome crew: Nightstalker, Axiom and the Protectorate's leader himself, Grandmaster.

She supposed nothing but the best would do for such an occasion, right?

Eyeing the accommodations of the spacious room, Jen briefly considered taking a seat for the wait on the rest of the team, but she decided it would be in somewhat poor taste to leave her hosts standing there looking all official and shit. It would be so stiff and [i]awkward[/i]. Stowing her annoyance at the inconvenience of social niceties, Wattson strode up to the lined-up heroes and reached out her right hand with the courteous offer to shake each of theirs in turn.

[color=00aeef]"Wattson,"[/color] she introduced herself succinctly and -she gathered- ultimately unnecessarily. [color=00aeef]"But I'm sure you all knew that, of course. It seems we'll be working together from now on. I'll be in your care."[/color] She almost uttered "pleased to meet you", but she preferred not to lie outright. The last thing she was interested in was being here right now, surrounded by other parahumans in stupid costumes, but she'd tolerate it for the time being. Still, again, she reminded herself that it cost her nothing but a bit of irritation to swallow her displeasure and be courteous and professional.

[color=00aeef][i]First impressions, Jen, first impressions. You can relax later.[/i][/color]