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Given the lack of experience among our ranks, perhaps there may be more efficient means of readying you all for war. I, myself, suggest demos--for you to place yourself among the ranks of trained soldiers in wars long in the past in order to learn discipline and tactics.

The reason why I don't suggest sessions in the Virtual Reality Simulator is simply because it would have no effect on the world. Perhaps you could change the outcomes of wars to the benefit of the Initiative. While such a thing is no concern to me, I still volunteer my assistance. This is not my war, but I have experience to offer.

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[This is a new concept. Lancelot's never 'sparred' with anyone of his caliber, aside from Arthur. Even then, he was often too overwhelming for Arthur for their friendly practices to stay at the friendly level.

It was something quickly banned by their peers.]

I would not be certain. The last time I've tried such a thing, I had been asked to stop.

[Asked to--that strong, huh? She 'hmm's faintly, then sighs. In for a gil, in for a pound. She brought it up, so she may as well finish it.]

If you want to try again, I'm available and can handle myself in battle. [And could use a good spar at this point.] I've also got healing magic, so hurting me isn't something you'd need to be concerned about.

[At that, he only really had one question. He was not a bloodthirsty man, but having a lack of opponents who would readily fight him with intensity as well as fervor left him restless.

He caved, easily.]

There isn't any space to do so here. Would the transporter suffice?

[Easier than she was expecting, for someone who'd seemed concerned. Not that she's complaining--she'd understand his reasoning completely if it ever came up.]

If they'll let us in there for this, I can work with that. You have a time in mind?

They've allowed me to utilize such a thing for much less.

[A bottle of wine and some time out in the country, at least.]

Whenever you would prefer. My necessities are nil.

[Right. If he's convinced, then they may as well try it.]

Then I'll meet you there an hour from now. [A quick pause, then:] Lightning.

[Her name. Even if these things supply them, she may as well give it.]

You may call me Berserker. [If only because 'Lancelot' would mean little to anyone, unless they really, really wanted to know. He left it at that, affirming Lightning's request.]

I will be there.

[Yet, as Lancelot held his device, even the word 'Berserker' was a jumble of broken characters on the device--as a part of his own ability.]

[-> Action?]

See you then.

[With that, she disconnects to prepare. It's only when she reaches the doors to the Transporter room before she's supposed to be there that she realizes she has no idea what he looks like. She nearly curses herself, but instead settles to wait for the hour to end.

When it does, and a man approaches, she cocks her head. Could he be the one? She'll find out today.]

Berserker?

[And what a name that is. She's one to talk, of course, but still.]

Edited 2013-11-27 02:23 (UTC)

[The man entering had nothing at all to do with Lightning. She spoke to him and Lancelot watched, one brow raised with a curious angle to it. He recognized her voice, so he decided to draw himself up into existence at that particular moment.

A black ball of twisting miasma sprang from the ground, gathering into his shape before it left in vapor--leaving Lancelot standing there wearing a plain black suit and tie, coupled with black leather riding gloves. At his hip, he wore a plain saber, worn with usage. In his left hand, he carried a wooden stave. He stood only a few feet from the transporter itself, raising his voice. It may have been rude, but Lancelot had grown used to remaining dematerialized for much of his time in the base.]

My Lady. [He called, raising his voice the proper amount. Projection was easy enough for him.]

[Well, at least she knows where he is now. With a headshake at the man she'd asked, she turns and walks closer to the real Berserker. He seemed harmless enough, but she knew better than to assume a person's combat skills by looks alone. Now, that judgement would come after a battle, so she inclines her head as she walks towards the transporter.]

Just Lightning.

[None of this My Lady stuff. She's no one's lady--she's a soldier.]

Got a place in mind, or should I put us down in an empty field?

I already know a barren space. [The end of a battlefield, he should say. Where no one would at all be surprised by two more combatants, if only because the dead rarely ever did manage to display fear or caution. The battle of Camlann, he thought--would be a place destitute of anyone willing to approach at all.

Berserker found the console and began fixing in the information needed. He regarded Lightning as he finished, hitting the enter key to allow the input. As the machine began to turn on, he looked properly towards Lightning.]

Provided you're not squeamish.

[He'd meet determined blue eyes for a moment, before Lightning shook her head and shifted her weight from one hip to the other.]

You don't stay in the military for six years if you're squeamish. I'll be fine.

[She's not squeamish about dead bodies and battlegrounds. She doesn't revel in killing, but the carnage won't send her fleeing. Instead, she simply steps onto the transporter when it's ready, all business and no fear. This is just another battle, another way to hone her skills. Nothing to be concerned about.]

I must ask. There are few men and women who bear witness to the end of a battle with such expense.

[Lancelot stepped into the gateway and then suddenly out into the field, standing in tall grass overlooking a sight to be remembered. There were mountains of corpses. The smell of the dead hadn't yet picked up, but there hadn't been anyone left to play the part of a witness to that.

He began to walk along the grass, avoiding bodies. It wasn't so much a gesture of respect to the dead as it was a lesson. Lancelot had seen soldiers get stabbed between the legs, stepping over presumed corpses. His eyes gestured around, finding body after body. In the area they stood, there was hardly any room to move. For a suitable 'match', he would need to find himself and Lightning place to get footing.]

Even seasoned warriors may not see such a thing as this their entire careers.

[For her part, Lightning hesitates only a moment when they arrive. She looks around, frowns, then sighs and shakes her head. She hasn't seen worse, not even in Eden, but it's not surprising. She keeps her stomach and pace with him, easily walking around and past the bodies.]

They're the lucky ones, then. They're not haunted the rest of their lives by this stuff.

Except the men who revel in such things. [Ones who were made to live in hell for a living. Lancelot had nothing else to say on the matter, though. When he reached the edge of the clearing, where it could be said that they had stepped out of hell and into a normal patch of forest, he reached behind himself to draw up the wooden staff he had taken.]

[He had nothing to say other than--]

But, sophistry cannot aid in our curiosity. En garde, madame.

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