Your processOR can only handle so many processES.

Jin keeps a diary. Brighid keeps a journal. Addam keeps a quest log, Aegaeon marks down Hugo's appointments or the rough rustic equivalents thereof, Haze has a comically (adorably) detailed chart of all the people they've met so far and information about them (their ages and birthdays, their favorite and least favorite foods, who else on the chart they've got connections to), and Minoth is always, always writing...

But Lora doesn't do any of that. Doesn't have any of that. When Brighid asks her about it, she says she's happiest keeping her memories in her heart. Which is bullcrap, as far as Mythra's concerned, you don't store information in your heart, but oh, boy oh boy, does she relate to the sentiment.

Because Mythra's heart, the place with all the icky-sticky emotions, and her Core, the place with all the fuzzy-buzzy facts and logic and reasoning tied up into neat little dynamically loadable packages, are the same thing. So when she doubles down on her pride born of the need not to need to write anything down, her metaphorical hands get really, really freaking busy trying to catch everything that tries to tumble-seep out through the cracks.

Yeah, she could write things down, to make sure that she never forgets anything that's important, but the thing is that she never forgets anything anyway, so long as it gets stored properly. If she puts pen to paper, the information will fly right through the cartridge to the tip and never pass through her brain. Call that great swap persistence, or something. Cleanly flushed buffer. Missing cache?

The point is, there's a lot going on. On top of being expected to interalize every little picayune thing Addam, and Brighid, and Jin, and Aegaeon, and Hugo, and Lora, and Miton, and even sometimes Haze and Mikhail has - have - to tell her (see, she actually likes listening to Minoth, so there's no trouble there) about her behavior and her attitude and oh, wow, aren't you all just so perfect, they also take for granted that she's watching everything they're keeping track of anyway.

Because she's the Aegis. Well, I hate to break it to you, folks, but even the Aegis's bus gets overloaded sometimes. Malos - who I definitely don't ever compare myself to, no sir, shut up Minoth, I told you I don't care what he thinks - probably has it real copacetic. No one telling him to what to do, no one else even doing anything within fifty square kilometers of him because he'd vaporize them if they were, and expect them to thank him for it (maybe Mythra should try that, it'd be something they appreciate for once).

But if Malos has it easy, then shouldn't I be able to case these humans just as easily? I'm not like them. I'm the Aegis. Earthly problems are nothing to me. Literally. Because I don't care.

Is that the issue? Because Lora, now, Lora cares so damn much about the smallest little incidents, she's always got her hand over her heart apologizing for something because she can't bear the thought of her having done something wrong, perfect Lora, a little angel, Jin loves you so much, even though you're always screwing up, you can't even go into situations that involve people in positions of authority without begging him to relieve you of the onerous task because...why?

Huh. Relatable, or whatever. Mythra's learned to hate those types of situations too. The scrutiny, the relentless expectations, the hard and fast reality that the only one who'll possibly be screwing up in there is her.

Is that how Lora gets by? Just avoiding everything that could possibly cause her a problem? That way she doesn't have to obsess over all the little details, she'll never be asked to remember anything her brain isn't actively eating up anyway. Come to think of it, that was what she had said the one time - that when the going gets tough, she starts thinking about her loved ones.

A coping mechanism. Kinda pathetic, if you're cynical, and Mythra is cynical, but apparently it works. Lora's always so calm.

Now, it's just as Mythra is making this observation, and consequently going offline for the entirety of the rest of the conversation only to beget more catch-up work, more cataloguing processes queued, for later, that there's an aggravated, strained grunt from a few yards away.

"Argh!" cries Lora, because of course she does. Way to throw a wrench in my entire train of thought, narrator. I bet you're not even sorry about it.

But whether she's going to receive an apology or not, Mythra seizes at the opportunity. "What's up?" she asks flatly, striding over with hand on hip. "Cut yourself?"

Lora doesn't answer, or at least not quite verbally, because she's busy sucking at the tip of her finger. She shakes her head and makes a sound affirming to the negative, but obviously she's got at least a trickle of blood gushing, so what she means, then, is that the cut isn't what made her shout. Again, shooting holes much?

When Lora finally removes the finger, briskly shakes it out as if whipping the cut through the dry not-quite-desert air in Hyber will somehow cause the gash to close and heal instantaneously (perhaps there's some merit to that, Haze being hazy and all), and squeezes it in the palm of her other hand, she still looks distraught. Mythra arches an eyebrow, sympathy rather drained.

"I was gathering vines for charms," Lora starts to explain, delicately pointing out said vines in a messy cluster on the ground with the tip of her shoe. "For an Organic Charm I need four, but for a Sword Charm I only need two - or, no. See, that's the trouble. I'd forgotten how many I needed for each, and I went to pick a third and fourth just to be sure, and then I cut myself."

She brandishes the wounded finger. Upon closer inspection, it's one of those wicked milimeter-deep slits that slides way too far open sort of diagonally-sideways. Mythra can't help but instinctively shudder. She knows intellectually what those feel like, but has never experienced one herself, because her skin and armor heal over so fast. But anyway. Not fair to count that advantage now.

"So if you'd kept more careful track, you wouldn't have been confused, and this wouldn't have happened," Mythra concludes. I mean, okay. Sure. That's annoying. But it doesn't seem like the kind of thing to get all literally bent out of shape about. Just one missed-ish opportunity. Right?

Lora seems to read her mind, because she sighs and continues, "Yes, and it's silly, but sometimes the littlest things are just so...so!" To accompany the inconclusive statement, she thrusts both hands up over her head and waggles them furiously. Laughing softly despite herself, Mythra moves to join her.

Still jazz hands-ing, Mythra remarks, "I thought you kept recipe notes. Can't you just check those, even if you'd like to have the components listed off by memory most of the time?"

It's a fair point, and Lora knows it, but she looks none too shamefaced. "Maybe, but I feel like if I jot them down, it won't be as special, for a handmade item. I'll never remember them - they'll always just be safely stored, and they'll never stick in my brain. You know?"

The hands stop. Mythra knows. Oh, wow, does she know. "Yeah," is all she says to agree, but her lips are immediately attacked in an anxious frenzy by both top and bottom teeth, alternately. She doesn't even know what's bothering her all of a sudden, for crying out loud, but she just feels like...vibrating. Mythra hates coincidences almost as much as she hates déjà vu - and why on earth does she get that? She's literally a computer, whether she fully knows it or not!

Calm down, calm down, you look like an idiot, Lora's probably judging you, like, so hard right now... "It's the worst," says Lora kindly, echoing what Mythra had said to her the very first time they'd concurred on a topic like this, and then she seems to seize onto something. "Hey, I know!"

"Know what?" asks Mythra, still distracted and a little weak-kneed from the rush of the twofold understanding.

"Come with me." Lora's practically bouncing on the balls of her feet with every bounding step as she scurries away, and Mythra has to start running to catch up - to catch onto Lora's hand, even, which is warm and creased even through the fingerless leather gloves. They wind through Hyber proper, out to the outskirts, around the cliff pass, and when they finally stop, both heaving out of breath, it's in the middle of the canyon that leads to Dannagh.

"I've always wanted to do this."

"Do what?"

And before Mythra can protest any further, Lora's spread her arms wide (still holding Mythra's hand) and is positively screeching bloody murder. On stereotypical clichéd cue, a flock of Skwarors and a handful of Rhoguls sweep squawking up and away from the violent disturbance.

"Lora-" She's still screaming. An awkward semi-coordination of muscles comes as she tries to turn her head and gaze towards Mythra in the most ridiculous uber-empathetic show of encouragement while keeping the source of the noise turned away, and when it doesn't work, the only defense mechanism Mythra has anyway is to open her own mouth and scream back.

All the hostile wildlife clears out of the canyon, all the bugs scurry back underground, even if they didn't originate therefrom, and it isn't until Jin and Addam come running that their unholy concentration is broken. First Mythra and Lora wave their free hands indiscriminately at the approaching men to shoo them away, but when that doesn't work, they yell at them instead (nothing in particular, still no words), and then the two tall, gangly specimens exchange wild-eyed glances, put up surrendering stances, and retreat.

Eventually, they're done. The ringing in Mythra's ears doesn't happen to be any particular improvement over the silent thoughts jangling-rangling therein previously, but it's something, anyway. She turns, sheepish, to Lora, and can only cock her head as any coherent expression of crucial communication.

"Oh," starts Lora, face all flushed up and near to giggling, understanding immediately. "Why do you think they call it the Braying Canyon?"