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Imogen…
Imogen sometimes lets her intrusive thoughts win.
At least, that’s what I thought when I watched her feel the soggy sack of flour in her hand as if weighing the souls of the departed (albeit not very carefully) and then glance up at where Garrick and Xaden were talking ten or twenty feet away. I watched the wheels work in her mind, watched the tawny water drip from between her fingers, and watched the next look she gave the palm-sized (perfectly-projectile-sized) flour sack again.
And wham. (Or perhaps I should say, whoosh-splat!) She didn’t just toss it. She catapulted it through the room, full pitching stance, one foot up as a followthrough, her green eyes watching the path of her weapon as it arced. The moment she was sure it was striking true, she returned to a normal stance, ready, I assume, to blame the very air in the gym for throwing the flour bomb.
It hit Garrick straight in the bicep, making a horrible squinchling sound, sending out a puff of somehow dry flour, as well as a squirt of wet sludge from the larger holes in the canvas bag it was haphazardly sewn into. The bag didn’t burst, but it may as well have, because before it flopped to the ground like a lifeless, joyless pancake, it covered Garrick’s shoulder and arm, down to his hand, and part of his chest and back, in varying forms and states of matter of flour-water mixture.
He assumed a position of immediate, involuntary disgust, hunched and a little uncertain, then he shook off like a wet dog for a half second, before turning to us, eyes bright, alert, and rest of his expression not quite sure yet whether to become irretrievably angry, or to simply pucker his brows in consternation and purse his lips in incertitude.
He looked first to Bodhi, who was at the wrong angle to have done the deed, but was laughing and clearly had watched the whole exchange; then he looked to me, and of course, while I absolutely could have done it, I did not. I simply offered a tight lipped smile—really trying to keep in a laugh—but feigning allyship.
Then he looked to Imogen. Her chin was lifted in something between pride and defiance, daring him to say something, or better yet, probably, to come over here and get… physical.
“Whoa, there,” I say quietly. Imogen glances at me with a mischievous glint in her eyes, and her small uneven smile hardens and widens. Even Xaden brings a hand up to his mouth to cover his pursed lip smirk and snicker. He meets eyes with Bodhi and seems to have a silent conversation confirming Imogen as the suspect of interest. Xaden backs up a little, clearly indicating that whatever conversation he and his best mate were having could wait until after whatever this is going to turn into is over.
And all that nonverbal communication and the blame shifting happened in under a moment.
“Who…” Garrick started to ask, but after the quickest of sweeps about the room (probably making sure Quinn wasn’t in here, because she absolutely would astral project to make it look like someone else threw something that, in fact, she had), he evidently decided that only Imogen could be the culprit. Now I’m watching with full investment.
Imogen’s hips and shoulders aren’t even turned all the way to him. She’s simply inviting him over with her look, her chin inclination, and her lifted cheeks above that smirk.
Garrick looks down at the flour pouch then at his shirt and shoulder again, decisions flashing in his eyes as all of us inspect to see what his next move will be.
I meet Imogen’s eye and back off the mat, conceding a nod. She ticks her head in a small but understandable agreement.
“Really?” Garrick asks, looking back at his shoulder and feeling the soggy, pasty material with a sigh. He steps to face Imogen and Imogen’s smile widens.
“Huh?” Imogen takes on an innocent tone. “I didn’t do a thing.” She looks pointedly away, basically whistling and twiddling her thumbs, her gaze upward.
Garrick looks back at Xaden in affront, just now realizing his friend has retreated off the mat. Xaden arches his brows, giving a pointed look.
“Alright, second-year. You wanna go?” Garrick gets a competitive smile on his face and whirls to actually face Imogen, who finally turns her body towards him as well, her feet instantly and instinctually in a fighting stance.
“Hell yeah, third-year. Let’s settle it! Here and now.” Imogen grins, beginning to walk along the mat’s inner perimeter, hands raised and ready. Garrick starts circling, too, rolling his neck but not putting his hands up yet. There are still fifteen feet between them, but I think I’d be a little more aware with her if I were him. She could close that gap in a second if she wanted to.
He kicks the flour sack off the mat and looks down at his shirt sleeve again, his eyes meeting mine for a millisecond before he smirks. I swear he just winked at me. Anyway, he takes his shirt off, tossing it into my chest with unexpected force, perhaps strengthened by some wind power signet juice. I laugh and make a fake disgusted face, holding it in two fingers out to the side and pinching my nose before dropping it. I get a few laughs for that, but only because the whole of our squad and part of another training in here right now are slowly gathering around this mat to watch this battle play out. The focus is intense, from both the fighters and the spectators.
Imogen’s grin doesn’t quite falter, but her eyes grow something more than just the excited, anticipatory competition that’s been swirling in them… there’s something more… hungry? Desperate? Maybe even nervous?
But when she lifts her eyes again from Garrick’s impressive pectoral muscles, up to his eyes, the nerves are gone. They’ve been replaced with a self assurance and a mischief that rivals even the look I wear when in the middle of a prank war. The next time their slow circle of steps revolves, I see a similar look in Garrick’s eyes. Although his is paired with a pride, not in himself, but in her. Pride or… admiration.
“You two just gonna dance or what?” Bodhi prods, covering his mouth like the call came from anyone in the crowd when we all know it was him. That earns a laugh or two, too.
When Garrick turns to scoff at Bodhi, even though his gaze is only averted for a second, and though he only turns his head an inch, Imogen takes her opportunity. Next thing he knows, Garrick’s having to catch himself from falling when she sweeps out his ankle from under a knee she braces with her other hand. I thought he was going down, but he flipped at the last second and caught himself with one hand, using the other to pull Imogen’s ankle out from under her and rolling so they’re both on the floor. Initially the knock to her knees then her stomach took her by surprise, but the moment he thought he was on top, she ruthlessly reminded him that that wasn’t the case. She wrapped an arm around one of his, already twisting it, then twisted his shoulder so he was forced to roll to his side. From there she got the high ground. She straddled his torso and pressed her hands into his shoulders. It isn’t a particularly stable position, and he could definitely flip her if he wanted, and she knows that, but he doesn’t; and she doesn’t bear down on his throat in the move that would, in fact, stabilize her position.
Imogen’s pink hair falls into her face and swings a little as she stares down into Garricks’s eyes. He f—king blows it, like he’s blowing off a hot spoonful of soup. I swear she lets out a laugh, almost a giggle. The most girly sound I’ve ever heard her make, and I’m not (really) convinced it wasn’t just a scoff. She also drops her jaw in surprise, though, and to reward him she does press one of her daggers to Garrick’s throat. (Didn’t think this little shindig was going to turn into an armed fight, especially since Garrick is shirtless and they clearly don’t want to or plan on hurting each other).
Garrick’s brows shoot up in mock surprise. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Suddenly, and inexplicably (until I remember who Garrick’s best friend is), the whole room gets flooded in an impenetrable darkness. There are quite a few gasps, but I know one of them is Imogen’s. The clatter of a knife against the mat sounds and I can tell that no one else has moved. We’re all too scared to run into something important or get run through by someone not paying attention.
….,,,,….
When the shadows disappear a minute later, anyone who had panicked during that moment looks around and slowly backs away (leaving only our squad, since we are apparently less peeved by these darkness stunts by now). Even a couple of the third years head out.
On the mat, however, Garrick is now on top. Imogen’s knife lies where they were before the shadows took over, and Imogen wears an expression of surprise, but clearly not because of the shadows. She stares at… Garrick’s mouth. I think we can all assume what just happened. The ones of us who get it instantly start slowly backing up a bit, concealing smiles as we group to the far corner of the mat. Bodhi eyes Xaden and shakes his head, laughing silently.
Xaden still stands with his arms crossed, until Violet, one of the several of us who actually gets what is going on, heads over and stands next to him, tilting her head to rest on his bicep, at which moment he just unfurls his tightly wound pensive posture and puts his arms around her fully. She contentedly rests her head on his ribs instead, reaching up to hold his hand in hers.
“Uggh, just get a room!” someone says. Imogen’s gaze snaps up, so she’s looking back behind her although her head is still on the floor.
Quinn has appeared in our midst. She motions with her head to where Violet and Xaden stand, saying, “What? I was talking to them.”
She waits a second then grins mischievously. Imogen blushes. (Yes, I assure you, I saw it with my own eyes. I didn’t think it was possible either, I know. But... it happened.) Garrick though, is just grinning. He’s still holding himself up braced by his hands on either side of her head.
Then Imogen gets a look like she’s got an idea. I see a little movement but then it’s stopped when Garrick pins her shoulders with his elbows, bringing their faces even closer.
“Well?” Garrick asks.
Imogen waits a moment, but Garrick bristles and I see Imogen’s hand crawling up his back, along his bonding relic.
“I think you won.” She says smoothly.
“Aaaaaand… it’s officially weird.” Bodhi calls, breaking a tense and near silent moment. Garrick breaks eye contact with Imogen and smiles a performative smile for everyone else’s benefit, then chuckles for the same end. He releases his hold on Imogen and jumps up, pulling her up, too, whether she asked or not.
“Alright, sparring time’s up, everybody out!” Xaden calls, his voice argumentative and fierce, as if he’s already told us once and now it’s serious. He’s using his Wingleader voice. On instinct, Second Squad packs up our supplies and starts for the door; the other squad in the room is long gone before we’re even cleaned up.
I can’t help but notice Garrick and Imogen aren’t among us when we file into the hallway. I think for the dignity of our squadmates, we all ignore what just happened (at least in public… for the moment) and part ways, going to separate wings of the quadrant with sloppily hidden giddy expressions on our faces at what just happened.
Finally.