Written Wonderland

The commander began readjusting the second she felt the clang of steel from Lance's deflection. Though she let none of it show in her steely expression, she was deeply pleased. While she had a habit of ending bouts as early as possible, she wanted the thrill of movement as they darted toward each other to continue.

Though she was already braced for a parry, Lance was too off-balance to pull it off. Still, he was too far out of her reach for her to kick him down again. A pity, really. That particular repeat would have been exceptionally satisfying. But, at the same time, she was grateful he wasn't making this easy on her.

She struck again soon after, however, closing the distance between them in a flash to make a feint toward Lance's left shin. The moment he reached to dodge, she spun and came crashing down with the blunt end of her sword on the top of his right shoulder, her exhale escaping her quickly with an audible, if quiet, exultation.

After allowing Lance a moment to collect himself, she stretched out her blade again, ready for another.

Lance didn't have much time to steady himself before the commander closed the distance between them, lunging with her sword towards his shin. The thought crossed his mind it was bold enough to be a feint, but his body moved without deference to the possibility, eagerly dodging and then tensing into another jolt of panic as Miyamoto spun to touch her sword to his shoulder, dangerously close to his neck. He grinned through the whole experience, though, hardly able to express himself in any other way. Some little bit of disheartedness trickled into his stomach, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. If anything, he was most embarrassed that he couldn't quite bring himself to move until the commander withdrew her sword, but he had high hopes that she--and the small bundle of onlookers they'd collected--wouldn't think much of it.

Once he could move, Lance paced around in a small circle, fluidly shaking out his shoulders and arms before turned back around to the commander. She stretched out her sword again, another invitation. Lance cocked his grin a bit to the side, and settled into his stance, eyeing Miyamoto carefully as they both subtly moved to click their blades together.

This time, Lance started moving fluidly to the side to circle Miyamoto as she had done to him, his eyebrow raising playfully as he watched her footwork in response.

The commander watched as Lance began to circle her, and she did not move a muscle at first except to let her sword arm relax at her side. Still, she was tensed, and the moment that Lance was about to exit her peripheral vision, she took one step back and spun toward him in anticipation of a blow, sword arm raised to deflect if it was there.

((OOC: And, if Lance hadn't attacked yet, her embarrassment from having predicted incorrectly would leave her briefly open to attack.))

Lance was intrigued that the commander in fact didn't move with him as he circled her. Were he dealing with a novice, this would have been all too easy, but he didn't figure he'd get far treating the commander as such. So, he held his trajectory even as he exited her periphery, still waiting to see what she had in mind. She could be playing a bluffing game with him, maybe, but that didn't quite seem her style, and indeed, no sooner had he existed her periphery than Miyamoto made her move, and Lance grinned from ear to ear.

The commander spun around towards Lance, clearly anticipating a blow he wasn't delivering, and she faltered when she realized that it wasn't there. Lance took the opportunity to spring around her side, the blunt side of his sword eagerly aiming to tap above her hip.

She thought she had read him correctly, had sensed movement behind her, but when she spun around to deflect, he hadn't attacked, and she lost balance just long enough for Lance to land a blow on her hip. Before it even connected, Lance's face erupted into an insufferable grin, and Mizu couldn't help but glance toward the small, sparse crowd that they had attracted once all was said and done. While they were smart enough to keep their distance, the soldiers had definitely seen that Mizu had taken a risk that had not paid off. But, it was also important to show them all that she, too, was human and could take her mistakes in stride. She stood up straight once again, nodding once to Lance in acknowledgement of his achievement, and reached out her blade to begin again.

The two of them continued sparring for a number of bouts, and while Mizu won most of them, Lance did have his moments. The sky darkened quickly above them, and the crowd lost interest before they did such that, when Mizu determined she had gotten what she needed out of the matches, her chest heaving pleasantly with exertion, there was no one else on the field. Her eyes were alight with gratitude, and she felt better than she had in days. Yes, she needed to remember that training was just as important for her as it was for her soldiers.

The commander looked at Lance, taking in the warmth of his hubris, thankful that he had allowed her to challenge him. He hadn't been demoralized, and she hadn't felt it necessary to go easy on him. He would, she thought, make a good volunteer for the goddess, as much as Mizu might guess about such things.

Looking at the reality of going back to her tent, however, was unreasonably unappealing. She felt wide awake now and invigorating, and she wanted more than to be alone with her thoughts and half-hearted attempts at strategy. She considered going to the mess tent and sitting with her troops--surely it would do them good to see the commander out and among them--but the idea of fielding questions about the goddess made her uneasy. She wanted company, but not that much company.

Not realizing that she had been staring at Lance until her thoughts returned to him directly, the commander looked away briefly and quickly looked back, realizing he was probably waiting for her cue.

"Lieutenant," Mizu said, attempting to remind herself of the situation at hand as to not give into the floaty sensation in her chest, "your diligence does you credit."

Excitement fluttered between Lance's chest and stomach when his sword connected with the commander's side. He tried to reel in his grin at least a little bit as he pulled back, though. Oh, some soldiers he'd have teased for the gamble that didn't pan out, even knowing full well he'd just been knocked on his own ass quite recently, but that didn't seem like the right game to play with Miyamoto. She stood straight again with a calm dignity, and gave Lance a nod of acknowledgment. His grin couldn't help but widen again at that, but it was more open and soft, nearly boyish in its glee.

He reigned it in again as he raised his blade to touch hers, pleased and eager to continue.

The commander kept him going well into twilight, even their small audience starting to disperse. The both of them breathed heavily with exertion and satisfaction, and, if Lance's ego wasn't completely making shit up, Miyamoto's expression was light and pleased and grateful. Warmth was already fluttering through him between the heat of his muscles and the chill of the approaching night in the air, and a splash of butterflies further riled his senses as her eyes touched his.

She looked at him for a long moment, though, long enough that it seemed something occupied her thoughts. He felt terribly curious, but her expression was pretty inscrutable--certainly not quite the expression he might hope to see if she was just taking in his good looks, unfortunately. He tilted his head slightly, eyebrow raising in a subtle question. The commander seemed to realize she'd been staring, then, her eyes darting away before returning a bit more focused.

"Lieutenant," she said, "your diligence does you credit."

Those butterflies wooshed through Lance's chest again, but he managed to hide them under some playful incredulity, his eyebrow arching with more exaggeration now. He wanted to know what in the heck she'd been thinking about. Was it something about him? Whew, dare he contemplate the thought?

"Thank you, commander," he said with a playful bow. When he returned upright, he sheathed his sword, his hips swaying without thought, yet knowing exactly what they were doing. His eyes returned to Miyamoto quickly and with interest, absent-mindedly hoping to catch whether her eyes had caught the way his hips had drawn attention. It wasn't until that moment that jitters swelled powerfully in his chest, like, what in the heck are you thinking, flirting with the commander? And yet...

Lance couldn't help a flicker of a grin, though he managed to keep it rather subtle, at least compared to his usual ostentatious displays.

"Anything else I can do for you this evening?"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a warning bell chimed, reminding him that he couldn't keep goofing off forever. He had an offering to figure out, and only so much time left here in this camp--in this world--to wrap up any loose ends.

But, well, at the same time, why not take this opportunity to flirt with the commander, then?

Lance let his eyebrows raise slightly, in something between an invitation and a dare.

The commander watched as Lance's grin only widened before he offered her a friendly bow. She might have let out a small, short laugh, but he quickly straightened, and Mizu could not help but watch each of Lance's exaggerated motions as he sheathed his sword. That finished, Lance's hips swung forward in a semicircle that was almost a thrust in her direction.

A warm and unexpected rush of blood traveled down Mizu's cheeks. Had she imagined that, or...? Or what, this boastful, overeager lieutenant tasked with managing the goddess' volunteers in Captain Rutliff's absence was making a pass at her?

The commander's eyebrows furrowed, and she frowned, caught between the fear of needing to disciple Lance for his disrespect and the possibility that he was being crude specifically as a joke at her expense. She didn't want to sour the satisfaction of the sparring experience they had so recently shared.

Still, she was clearly affected by him if the blush was any indication. She was almost positive she hadn't let slip anything, anything at all, that would give him the impression that she was interested.

"Anything else I can help you with, Commander?" he asked.

No, she was right--he was making a pass at her. Shivers ran down the front of her legs, but she made no outward movement at all.

It had been over a year now since she had last laid with Phantom, and the memory of it was creased and faded from gentle overuse.

Her eyes narrowed further. "What are you insinuating, Holloway?" Her tone was biting and sharp.

But, her mind couldn't help running through possible options of how the night might go. She worried deeply that, if she did engage in anything untoward with Lance, he would run his mouth all over camp. And if doing so would in any way jeopardize their cause, she could never justify it. But, then again, he was leaving the following night. And who would believe that the commander had taken him as a lover as distant and severe as she was?

She ran her eyes over Lance's body--the moonlight-drenched sweat sheen highlighting each of his intertwined arm muscles, the taper of his chest toward his hips, the curve of his calves. He was, she needed to admit, quite attractive. But...

The commander thought back to some of her favorite moments with Phantom, her long black hair swaying above him while they both offered themselves to... something larger than either of them were willing to name. Would something like that ever be possible during a single evening with an egotistical subordinate leaving tomorrow? Mizu very much doubted it.

Lance was sure he had caught the commander ogling the movement of his hips, but before she responded to his quip, her eyes narrowed, and when she did answer, her tone was biting and sharp.

"What are you insinuating, Holloway?"

A sharp slash of fear cut across Lance's chest, and he couldn't quite help raising his hands out to the sides just above his hips in a sort of gentle truce, though his expression only just barely softened. He hastily ran through his options--it wouldn't do to play dumb, he was fairly certain, but in acknowledging it, he could either back off or go all in. What did he even want here, anyway?

As he was contemplating, he caught the commander eyeing him--his arm and his chest, even down to his legs at least briefly. Butterflies exploded in celebration all through him, his skin nearly tingling as though actively feeling Miyamoto's gaze, even where fabric tried to obfuscate the commander's view. Surely she was considering. And didn't that thrill him? Gods, even just to have her eyes caress him, to behold him before he was gone....

Lance exhaled something between an exasperated sigh and a weak, airy laugh, his shoulders shrugging in a sheepish acknowledgement that he'd been caught out. He still held a smile, though, his brows still raised in a hopeful arc.

"Just that tonight's my last night in this army--in this world--and I honestly have no idea what I'm in store for tomorrow."

He paused, there, unsure if that was enough, and equally unsure of what else to add. Some part of him was still catching up with the fact that he was actually doing this, but he couldn't find it in himself to back down, even if a growing buzz of fear in his stomach was sure that all he was doing was setting himself up for the pain of rejection--gods, maybe even revulsion--without any good reason. But, no, she was certainly not revulsed... right?

Lance sighed again and relaxed his hands, one settling on his hip and the other down at his side.

"I enjoyed the sparring either way, Commander, and I mean no disrespect. My sense of decorum's a bit unhinged tonight, I suppose."

He tried to keep a light, casual tone and posture, despite the anxiety that was starting to swirl through his stomach and up into his chest. Gods, here was hoping that was a reasonable tactic to take. He did feel that just about the worst-case here would be to leave Miyamoto feeling insulted by him, so he hoped he could at least direct them away from that path for the evening.

Mizu watched Holloway's fluster as his hands came up in a surrendering gesture, and she knew she had been correct in assuming Lance's intentions. To his credit, he wasn't trying to obfuscate the fact; he was admitting to it outright.

As he reminded her that tonight was his last night here before going to the goddess, the commander's expression softened, and it was less fraught to consider what the evening might hold for them.

Although, treading seriously down that path made her wonder... what about her made Lance offer to spend his last night with her? Simply that she was the commander? Was this some last-ditch attempt at an extra notch in his belt?

No, he'd asked her if she needed anything else. But, then again, he wasn't simply trying to be helpful. There was something in it for him.

And what did she need? Nothing. She wasn't doing any of this for herself. Not the war, not her leadership. She was devoted to something far larger at any cost. But here and now, when everything felt already in motion or decided, when there was a moment to truly think about herself...

Her position was lonely, and for the first time in longer than she cared to admit, she opened the lid on that sensation, the hollow feeling in her chest. It had been so much easier around others similar to her in rank back at the palace.

Right, rank. If she told Lance she needed something, he would have little recourse to say no. And they couldn't pretend they weren't in hierarchy to each other.

The commander looked away from Lance with a vulnerable melancholy present in her face. Her cheeks had lost their poise, and her eyebrows lifted and then dropped with a sense of defeat.

If she was being honest with herself, she wanted to cry. To hell with what Lance thought of her or her strength or her ability to lead them all through this war.

Finally, the commander sheathed her own sword, its curved weight momentarily hanging at her side. But then she began to unbuckle the straps that held the sheathe against her. Laying that gently on the ground, she also unstrapped the top layer of her hardened leather armor over her chest such that she wore only her own black tunic and her army-issue pants as well as the leather greaves she had strapped to her legs.

Shooting a stern look at Lance to silence any insinuations her actions might have elicited, she looked up at the stars for a moment, gave one last look around to convince herself that no one was paying attention, and laid herself gracefully down on the grass. She put her hands behind her head, crossed her ankles, and stared up at the sky.

"You're dismissed, lieutenant."

Miyamoto's expression softened, and Lance couldn't quite help the soft, relieved sigh that escaped him. They were going the right direction, at least.

But then her expression melted further, melancholy pouring out, and panic rose in Lance's chest. Like, shit, had he been a total asshole to go this direction in the first place? But, why?

Miyamoto finally sheathed her sword, and began to unbuckle her sword belt. Lance watched quizzically as she laid her sword and its sheath on the ground and then moved to unbuckle her leather armor as well--she was always so diligent about wearing it. He felt deeply uncertain what all this meant, even moreso when the commander shot him a stern look. He averted his gaze a moment at that, his stomach starting to feel a little unsteady. Should he leave? But, she hadn't asked him to... even that look had still been rather ambiguous as to what it meant. Gods, Miyamoto was a hard read.

In his periphery he realized the commander was laying down, and a fresh heat of excitement buzzed at his chest and warmed his cheeks. Was she--here in the field?? No, no, that must have been what that stern look was for--to assure Lance that that wasn't where this was headed. That made sense. He brought his eyes back to her, taking in the sight of her laying down in the grass in the moonlight, ankles crossed and hands behind her head. He smiled a little crookedly, taken off-guard by the serenity of the sight.

"You're dismissed, lieutenant."

His smile fell, hovering only barely above a frown as the commander's words stabbed him through the gut. So it was to be rejection, then?

Lance sighed lightly, trying to take it in stride, and absent-mindedly looked up to the stars. They were a lovely sight out here in the field. He wondered whether the goddess' realm had stars. Did it even have day and night? Or landscapes he'd even recognize? Nervousness began to thrum in his body, as the looming task still at hand crept back into his awareness. What in the hell would he offer to her?

Lance started to turn, tempted towards seeking out someone who would be interested in his company tonight. He'd tumbled with one of his sparring partners more than a few times, and he couldn't imagine her not being down on a momentous night like this. But he stalled, uncertainty gripping at him. Was that really what he wanted? There were ways that that just felt like... killing time, he supposed. And he didn't really have much time left to kill.

He glanced back to Miyamoto, and found a fresh resolve. He wasn't going to get through tonight following the path of least resistance. With a fresh, soft sigh, Lance started to undo his own sword belt, purely following some kind of instinct at first, but then as the weight of it peeled off of him, a realization hit: Miyamoto was probably a bit more studious about the gravity of rank than he was. And maybe that was precisely her hold-up. Lance turned away from the commander just enough to hide his smile as he set his sword down on the ground, and he reveled for a moment in the lightness and newfound grace in his body as he did so. Yes, rank was a bit cumbersome, wasn't it? And was he really a lieutenant anymore, anyway? He certainly wouldn't be this time tomorrow.

Lance gracefully eased himself down into the grass a couple feet from Miyamoto, leaning back on his arms to look up at the sky. He let a few beats of silence sit, and then offered,

"Call me Lance, then."