huh

Her expression wavers, the beginnings of a smirk pulling at the lines around her mouth like she isn’t sure if she wants to smile or not. In all the time she’s known her—gotten to know her, beyond the rocky first few days, she’s hardly ever seen Shepard uncertain. Her cadence down the stairs is off—steps lighter than her usual stride, and she runs her fingers over her chin, tracing a thought across the freckles there as her eyebrows lower. Agitated. Uneasy. Miranda squeezes the wet ends of her hair into her towel. “Commander,” she greets her, though she’s certain she’s already aware of her presence. It’s a rare occasion Commander Shepard walks into a room without clocking the exact number of people and exits. Where everyone stands, how they hold themselves or the threat they pose. Miranda must not pose much, but Shepard stiffens at the bottom of the stairs all the same, seemingly swallowing her nerves. The flare of her nostrils is the only outward indication she’s startled her.  As she raises her head, she catches her shuttering the divide between Commander and Shepard, like she’s trying to decide which role she wants to play in these late hours. Dressed down as she is, worn hoodie and cargo pants that look like they’ve seen better days, there’s still a commanding presence to her that has Miranda straightening automatically. “Miranda,” Shepard says; if she had to hazard a guess, she almost looks… excited. A nervous energy that looks uncanny buried in the twitch at the corner of her mouth.“Any new reports for me?”