Mikha.

It was another day for Mikha; she had entered the realm of Outworld. She didn't bother to shed her armor; it padded her reputation as some sort of "chill" Seidan who wasn't so gung-ho about rules, order, etc. She would regularly socialize with Outworld's citizens, and they knew as well as she did that she was not supposed to be there.

Hotaru continued reading her ID card, listening out for an actual explanation. Vlakte was a mildly famous name related in some way to the founding of the capital city, but Hotaru didn't remember exactly how.

Before she could finish stating her disrespectful "request," Hotaru, who did not look up from the ID card (not that one could tell either way), talked right over her. "We do not make errors."

Hotaru's calm, almost flippant demeanor was both the result of and the trick behind his authority. His mere presence exuded command and demanded respect without effort. Thus, Hotaru did not need to actively intimidate. He did not have to raise his voice or puff out his chest to prove that he was in charge -- it was obvious that he was. Natural as breathing.

Nope. This woman was not fit to be a guard. It wasn't just her bizarrely disrespectful attitude, but the fact that she acted this way in front of Outworlders. Hotaru did not get angry very often, and he wasn't angry here either - he was baffled. Too baffled to be mortified, even. It was like Mikha had not even gone through basic training--

--that had to have been it. Different eyes in her ID. A false mission code. An absolutely unimaginable disregard for the protocols of Seidan Guard. A complete lack of dignity.

This was an imposter. A shapeshifter of some kind, impersonating whoever the real Mikha was. This wasn't even a Seidan.

 She held back the urge to start something more significant than she could handle. His tiny transgressions made her boil over internally, and she exhaled and shook her head. “Mine may have been a unique case, then. I’m sure you’d know of unique cases, Commander.” 

Mikha thought back to Havik, a rival of Hotaru’s. A while ago, upon inspection, she realized how much effort and calculation chaos indeed required. Chaos needed foundations to tear to pieces. Perhaps using order to accomplish her goals just wouldn’t work. Acting impulsively, in his case and hers, needed full consideration of the consequences. The difference is that Havik didn’t care. Mikha cared more, and through this logic, she was doing wrong. 

So what if she’s arrested? Hotaru would probably arrest someone for blinking too loud if it disturbed him enough. And so should she if she had his massive index of power. 

Mikha turned to an Outworlder of the group, the most humanoid of the few, and tilted her head slightly to the left, touching her top lip with her tongue and noticeably blinking three times. He seemed to begin to nod but stopped, his head tilted downward.

It was another day for Mikha; she had entered the realm of Outworld. She didn't bother to shed her armor; it padded her reputation as some sort of "chill" Seidan who wasn't so gung-ho about rules, order, etc. She would regularly socialize with Outworld's citizens, and they knew as well as she did that she was not supposed to be there.

Hotaru looked genuinely surprised at her attitude. Such behavior was so unacceptable that it was almost unthinkable. Almost. Hotaru was not new to his position. He had a keen sense of smell and this woman reeked of entitlement.

He didn't scowl, he didn't look angry or insulted at her petulance. Instead, he himself broke the eye contact, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as she gave a patently false mission code.

Normally, one Seidan Guard out of line meant there was an entire chain of command that was broken and there were going to be hara-kiris involved. But occasionally, Hotaru ran into a problem that he couldn't find a way to deal with. Nepotism.

He didn't recognize her surname when she spoke it. She must have been provincial. That, of course, didn't mean that Hotaru wouldn't still have to deal with her differently if he were to maintain a stable relationship between the Guard and whatever politician she was related to. So he turned to look down at the projection of her ID to read the code and find her real station when--

--now, a normal person would be seen looking from the photo in the ID to the actual woman and to the photo and back, but given Hotaru's eye condition, this movement would only be visible to those who had the opportunity to really learn the movements of his face and eyelids.

Carrying this torch was difficult, because as much as she took Hotaru as an influence, she hated him for it. She gritted her teeth when someone like Lieutenant Chen publicly thirsted over him, or when citizens gawked at him and speculated on whether or not “the carpet matches the drapes,” whatever that meant. 

With a Commander as famous and esteemed as Hotaru, his followers usually fell into a few categories, one being his wannabes. The people who would drive a stake through his chest if they ever found him vulnerable; the ones who fantasized about a world where he had a timely death and thus thrust them into power and recognition immediately, or even a world where he was cast out, and they had found a better fit to command.

When reality hit, though, even if Hotaru were to die or be cast out, no one could take his place meaningfully. He was the champion of Seido, the realm’s figurative golden child. 

And that had Mikha fuming. 

Her face flushed with frustration and embarrassment when he pointed out the difference between her eyes from the ID card and those in person. “That… That is not a relevant concern. Most likely an error.” Her eyebrows raised and drew together very slightly. “Are you done here?” If Hotaru can smell other states of emotion, her anxiety must be absolutely pungent. “I find it disturbing that someone as disciplined as you would interrupt me on a mission as important as mine. I request that you hound someone else, Commander.” She used his title slightly mockingly, pushing what she could get away with.

It was another day for Mikha; she had entered the realm of Outworld. She didn't bother to shed her armor; it padded her reputation as some sort of "chill" Seidan who wasn't so gung-ho about rules, order, etc. She would regularly socialize with Outworld's citizens, and they knew as well as she did that she was not supposed to be there.

The fact that a member of the Guard at any level, even regional auxillary like this one, was going somewhere without authorization was a massive security and chain of command failure.

He happened to be in Lei Chen when he was informed of the situation. One of the things that made Hotaru popular with his troops was that he, despite being brass, went out in the field with the rank and file as much as possible.

He spotted her iridescent armor glinting in the purple sun as he approached the area where the tracker indicated she was. A village on the outskirts of Lei Chen, never quite rebuilt in the years since the Tarkatan raid.

The guard, mask off, was standing around, alone, with a group of Outworld misfits - a tark, an Edenian, a three-armed Shokan and a humanoid Outworlder - and appeared to just be . . . talking to them.

Were they informants? Was she an informant?

His towering shadow loomed over them as he approached, almost comically foreboding. But he made no sound. The guard's little friends' eyes went wide at the masked golem with a general's sashimono.

Situations like these - unauthorized action taken upon any guard - were taken very seriously. At the lightest, she would be cast out or imprisoned, and at worst, it would lead to death. There would be no taste of power and glory - the thought of it made her nauseous. 

The reactions of those she was talking to had given her away already - she needed to find a way to backtrack. Mikha stole a breath, readjusted her facial expression, and turned to Hotaru, looking straight up at him. She made direct eye contact, showed her ID and rank, and presented a false mission code. “Here, Commander.” She almost sounded offended when she spoke, as if he was a pain in her ass.