[if PM's making a sweep near a certain long row of flowerbeds on the edge of Sector 4, she'll see a person—a new inmate, evidenced by the restraint around one ankle—trudging her way over towards the direction of the Shelter. Her embroidered and very fancy-looking white robes are looking disheveled, and there are grass stains and smudges of soil at the ends of her wide sleeves and over her knees.]
[the woman's hood casts her face in shadow, and she doesn't look up as PM draws close, but one of those strange mechanical tendrils attached to her shoulders turns towards the mail lady, and a moment later, the woman freezes in her tracks.]
[Felicia hasn't been having the best day. Really, another xeno is all she needs.]