Luckily for Celes, the notable lack of sleep wasn't the thing that Faruja had on his mind when he truly had a chance to take in the blonde-haired leotard-clad General. Any other day and he'd have had something to say about the woman's gawking almost immediately. But that day was not today, as Celes' examinations were met with ones equally as shocked.

Shellshocked, more like. To the Burmecian's mind the person who stood before him was the spitting image of an Alexandrian soldier. The uniform was distinct, after all, particularly the army's near-total use of women as soldiers. He didn't hate them, not /really/. The rank and file were soldiers. Salt of the earth, or choco-hay-pile just like him. No, he hated the Queen, curse her and her whole line, and that murderous General.

So instead this was just damned awkward. And brought back uncomfortably fresh images of women in those uniforms dead, dying, killing, and being killed. He hated the memories that dredged up, with only the lightest fuzziness brought on by his transportation to this world.

Faruja, for all that others found their memories stolen as something to mourn, felt the opposite. He was cursed with clarity of that which he'd much rather forget. Where Celes was alarmed, the rodent looked as if he was looking upon a ghost or maybe the personification of his worst nightmares.

And so roughly while Celes was picking up her jaw, the Burmecian managed to un-dialate his eye, forced his tail to relax a bit, and to stop gripping his shield like he wanted to pick it up and stove Celes' skull in with it. He couldn't stop the sigh of a man audibly stopping himself from a minor panic attack.

She stood up proud and tall. The soldier forced a smile.

"Dame.../General/ Chere..." His brows scrunched, not in skepticism of a Lady General, but mostly in confusion. No, he actually believed her on that point. She couldn't be an Alexandrian, no matter how much she looked like one. Right? The accent didn't strike him as being proper, but then again he'd mostly been having them at sword-point. They were /distant/ allies turned too-close enemies.

So he threw a respectful salute. "'Tis a pleasure! Ah, though perhaps we aught not gawk quite so much. Awful rumors always start that way, the recruits might think we fancy one another with staring such as that! Bunch of utter rascals, the lot, no doubt!" It was all said with a smile, a wiggle of whiskers, and his ears moved from 'flat back panic' to straight upwards and a little cocked humorous. His laugh was jolly, a bit awkward, and just plain squeaky.

Then he waved his sword hand dismissively. "With all due respect, my Lady, I'm well aware of what a mercenary company is and does! I'm a fair swordarm, but talking about swordplay and martial talent is a waste of time unless we are giving lessons to wet-behind-the-ears green-tails. I could well be lying, after all, therefore I propose the direct approach may well be warranted! Forgive the presumption, but I assume a General would prefer such, eh?"

A pause, he looked her over a touch more. Particularly the leotard. He chewed on it, and then sighed.

"General, I'll speak it plain. I want to know what the Dragonblades believe in. What they work towards, not merely whether they'll take and pay me. ...Yes I'm very much interested in getting coin to have a roof over my head and keep eating, but you can get that in any mercenary company. I want to be more than a sellsword, at least until I can get back home and reunite with my countrymen and women." He wasn't just going to toss in with a random unit, not until he was sure there was something /more/ here. The rumors were compelling, even if skepticism was creeping into his voice.

Then he let the other shoe drop.

"Also, this may be rude of me to be so forward. But for my own peace of mind, I must ask, and insist you answer: where did you get that uniform, General? What kingdom were you born in? And do the names Beatrix, or Queen Brahne til Alexandros ring any bells?" His single eye suddenly became very searching as he looked her over. He wanted to think she wasn't one of them. Beatrix was alive, he knew he wouldn't have the luck of that being any other way. Was this some second general that took up for support of the famous knight?

He tried to look mean about the whole thing. But the Burmecian really was bad at hating. He mostly looked uncomfortable. "Please. Answer me honestly."

Faruja, for all his suspicion, was starting to feel sympathetic towards Celes. About half way through his road roller of a conversation he was getting the idea that perhaps this woman was lost, and almost assuredly overworked.

Still not quite used to this whole 'new world' thing, her utter bewilderment was chalked up to those assumed facts. He felt some decent evidence, by the sleep she hastily tried to hide. Thus the Burmecian managed to package away just how much Celes' uniform irritated him.

For now. If he had his way, he may well need said irritation.

"Mmm. Curious. Teaching self defense to the locals, eh? As potential recruits, or simply as a precaution? Surely the local military aught handle the job rather than an underfunded band of mercenaries." His biases were showing here quite clearly. Nor did he try to really disguise it.

The rat paused. He smiled. "Running them through their paces." He muttered with a partially raised brow at Celes. His tailtip fluttered. Really? Like /that/, General?

Vector. The Empire of an unknown line. He had no evidence she was lying, nor did she really fit the scoundrel type. And then she had to go and offer /help/! Faruja leaned more on his shield. Oh this would take some time getting used to.

"I want to believe all of that, General. In fact, I'd say you believe it too. No, methinks the universe is playing a lovely little cosmic joke on my person. A bitter one. Word of advice, mmm? Watch yourself around anyone whom looks like me, or comes from the Kingdom of Lindblum. Less...controlled and thoughtful Burmecians or our allies would be more likely to knife you in the ribs as they mistake you for an Alexandrian soldier." 'Alexandrian' was said with an absolute seething sneer. He didn't spit on the floor, but only because he'd learned some manners in the army.

It took him a minute or two to compose himself. It looked like he was trying to avoid exactly what he cautioned Celes of watching for.

Herculean task done, he took another moment to gaze at the blonde haired woman's tired eyes.

"Right, I may well be going a touch quickly. Presumptuous of me! Faruja Horatio-Wellington Senra, Sergeant of the Burmecian Army's Heavy Infantry Division! At your service. We could well talk about what I need, but I do prefer earning my meals you see. You've piqued my interest, as has Sir Caius. His and your reputations precede you."

A quick wave of a clawed hand. "But I am here to take the measure of the Dragonblades as much as yourselves towards me. Let me be blunt. Dame General Celes Chere of the Gestahlian Empire, Officer of the honored Dragonblades...I, Sergeant Faruja Senra of the Burmecian Army do hereby challenge you to a duel! That we may demonstrate both our skill at arms as well as our integrity!" He upped his voice to squeaky-gruff, and became that much more formal. As if this was important.

Dueling culture was a thing in Burmecia. The rodent took it very seriously.

He did, however, deflate a touch. Just slightly, with his good eye narrowing. "...At a time and place of your choosing of course. Frankly General, you look like you skipped morning tea. I'd be more than willing to brew you a pot if you'd show me to the kitchen." The rat was /worried/. Over the person he'd just challenged to a duel.

Faruja clearly had his quirks.

Faruja gave a slightly skeptical look to Celes as she insists she's not an Alexandrian. He still can't shake that feeling. One of those faces indeed! Finally he sighed.

"It doesn't matter I suppose." What would anyone gain if he had started a fight? The rodent shook his head.

So of course he started a fight based on honor instead. He was expecting a boast or a formal acceptance. But instead she sounded /mad/ about the whole thing! The Burmecian's jaw slacked a bit, before he watched her stomp off.

"...Excellent work Faruja. You've gone and made her angry. She really needs that tea. Workaholics, I swear!" He rubbed one of his ears before his tail drooped in exasperation. Did she really not understand that this was a /proper/ and /honorable/ thing to do when signing up for a mercenary company? Humans!!!

One good stretch later, the heavily armored rodent was staring down Celes. The chill hardly touched him even with the weather stick to the metal bits of his armor quite heavily, his fuzzy self quite the insulator. She knew how to wield a sword, was irritated, and seemingly had something to prove.

He really, really felt as if he might have gone about all this wrong. But he wasn't the type to just give up. He'd dug his foxhole, so it was time to hop right into it. A clawed hand reached up, made sure his helmet was on his head square, and took up a fighting stance. Feet apart, shield at the fore and sword at his side, he fixed his gaze on Celes for a moment in silence.

"Right. No time for regrets or thinking too much! You don't strike me as one to stand on formalities, so! Let us see what we're both capable of! Engarde, General!"

For a faster fighter, that might have presaged a swift rush towards his opponent. The soldier didn't really lumber, nor did he exactly charge the woman. Instead it was closer to the speed of a brisk jog. He wasn't going to be winning any dashes here. Instead he came upon Celes steadily and confidently.

The Burmecian went in for a shallow swipe for the swordarm, intentionally a bit too slow. At the last second he reversed his grip on the blade, and instead tried to bring the pommel of his sword down on Celes' elbow! All the while he tried to crowd her in if he gets close enough with that shield of his.