Aren't we intrepid?

Most of the Tornan Titan, despite its hustle and bustle and veritable hordes of hospitable people, human and Blade alike, was fairly desolate, as Jin and Lora made their nascent rovings. Well, perhaps not desolate, but indeed deserted, because those were the routes they had to keep, upon dreamed pain of death, in order to avoid being sighted.

Lasaria was a quiet region, as was the predominant portion of Aletta, but neither of those were where the two found themselves, and but for the fateful event we're about to bear witness to, not much else was ever very memorable about it. Names of places, carousing about grand landmarks and gruff mercenaries, was not to be yet. For now, it was only careful walks and grateful meals in sheltered places, where none meaning harm could reach them.

It was on just such an anti-beaten path that they very nearly made crossing with an Indoline monk - not quite a warrior - and his Blade, a tall fellow with ether lines glistening on the sides of his thighs, over the swell of his chest, and on a pair of smartly flapping banners on his back. The monk walked...rather oddly, all things considered, more waddling than anything else, and the Blade looked to be schooling a swaggering stride that otherwise would have given him away in any crowd.

He dawdled, in fact, inspecting the Speckled Monarch perched on a nearby bush of Spiral Mistletoe, and for a moment his step juddered, faltering towards the nature attraction as he fished in hip pocket for a notebook and pen, but then a dry snap came from the monk: "Minoth. Do hurry up, we haven't got all day to spend on your senseless hobbies."

Hm. What an unpleasant man. Minoth seemed to agree, judging from the way he muttered, "I'll hurry you up, you-" Ah. Not a very nice word, that next. But yes. Under his breath, something about the feelings his Driver inspired in him and the way he wished the very same urges would crop up in the pointy-eared man, and save him the trouble.

Architect. What would I do if I hated my Driver that much? No time to worry about it, however, because Jin had to make for larger bushes and fuller cover. Just grab Lora's hand, and--

Lora?

By that point, Minoth had stepped to as requested, though unfortunately without his pen, which he had dropped upon being startled into his action by his Driver's boorish request. And sure enough, there was Lora, plodding into the dirt road behind him.

"Lora, get back here!" Jin hissed between his teeth, desperately trying and failing not to sound angered in his panic. If that monk saw him...it would all be over. Instantly. The Paragon of Torna, returned for writ, Lora forcily unbonded from him either by the natural method (killing) or something else entirely (Judician technology), and the monk catapulted to promotional stardom purely by foolish accident.

Oh, what a way to go. They'd made it six months, what was another...oh, Architect. How many? How long would this go on? Would they have to keep running, fighting fruitlessly for their lives, forever?

That's what a Blade is for, after all. Each day in plodding processional step, protecting its Driver without regard for its own future. Their memories will never mean anything. No encounters will ever truly carry forward. They will never be the same person they once were, when into familiar circles they once again step, permitted to this or that new motive.

But what about Lora's future?

Never you mind it, Jin. Remember, just the day. Just the turning of the hour. Just the counting of the seconds. Just keep counting out time.

One, two, three, four, five seconds...luckily for the not-fugitives, the monk just kept walking, heedless. Jin had stowed himself away into the shrubbery, one hand clapped over his Core Crystal and the other hovering over the hilt of his nodachi, but Lora still hadn't returned. What was she doing out there?

"Hey, mister." Very nearly tripping over her own too-tightly-booted feet, Lora stumbled forward, intent on the slender metal object lying there on the ground, about to be tramped into the dirt. And oh, god, Lora, wasn't the first thing I taught you not to talk to strangers? I'm sure even your father would have agreed with that, for the Architect's sake. Oh, Lora...

The "mister" in question didn't turn back, either, at the pleasant plea, and in fact seemed to redouble the hurriedness of his step - logical enough, considering the verbal undressing he'd received for daring to stop and observe the scenery just a few moments prior.

So Lora, ever-persistent, even at this tender age, wandered still closer, and tugged at the back of his pant leg - the slack around the knees, conveniently enough, and Jin gave silent thanks for Blade armor that still followed realistic human rules to at least make this encounter less awkward than it could have been.

Now, he responded. "Something I can do for you, kiddo?" Thank goodness. He was only surly enough to curse at his Driver, and no more. If that could even be called a good thing. His avuncularity seemed ever-so-slightly summoned-up, too. Like he wasn't sure how to reflect kindness, because he'd never really seen it for himself.

"You dropped this."

In Lora's tiny, fur-covered palm, extended to its very farthest reach at the end of her adorably short arm, lay a cheap pen, suited to scribbling down shopping lists but not much else of artistic note. The Blade furrowed his brow, stared at it like he'd never seen it before in his life, then peered some degrees further up into Lora's earnest face.

"...thank you," he said softly at last, accepting the pen with all gratitude marked, more pocked, by all trepidation. Even from Jin's odd angle, he could see the way the Blade's gloved fingers moved to touch only the writing implement, and otherwise avoid grazing anything else on Lora's person.

Before she could blurt anything further, about how her mother had always taught her to help people or how she had learned good manners from Jin, Minoth stiffened, made a shallow dip of his chin, and turned away once more.

And finally, finally, finally, Lora returned, almost dancing in her generosity-inspired elation, to Jin's impatiently tapping feet and crossed arms.

"He seemed so sad," she remarked wistfully as Jin thrust his hand into hers and led them firmly in the opposite direction from the other travelers.

"Yes, well. I'm sure no other Driver could be as nice as you, Lora." The little lady giggled her agreement, and off they went.

"Jin? You don't mean from Torna?"

That voice. An unmistakable tenor, loud and hale and damned rebellious. So what was that about your past never coming back to haunt you?

Jin didn't say anything. It wasn't a twisted mode of deference, no, but...he wanted to see if Lora remembered. And if Minoth didn't, that would be fine too. Like as not he'd want moments like that, with Amalthus who was so clearly not any kind of Driver to him despite all of Addam's confident (oblivious) blustering, to be lost to unwritten history.

Lora had certainly been squinting suspiciously at him most of the time since his first appearance, but the cadence of the way her ears flattened back and she began playing with her ponytail was weak, hesitant. In other words, she was more put off by her own dim recollection than any danger he might have harbored or harbingered.

At last, when the evening meal had concluded and Addam had whispered something conspiratorially jovial in Minoth's ear, garnering him a gleaming gauntlet straight to the chest along with the cowboy's broad grin, Minoth retrieved his notebook from some pocket, some pouch, some satchel or other. And, with it...that same low-quality pen.

"You're still using that old thing, Minoth? I thought Flora had bought you a new one." Flora? Was this somehow not the same Minoth, then? The scar was new, but all that talk of Amalthus squarely ruled out this apocryphal pen-purchaser as any new driverial attachment. No. It had to be the same Blade. The same man, rather, because the flesh-eating made him...well. Maybe Jin wasn't sure exactly what he thought about that, just yet.

"Buzz off, Addam," Minoth retorted without any real malice. "This one works just fine. One of the only things I'm glad I still have from back then." Nodding, Addam laid an affirming hand on the Blade's shoulder, where it remained without being shrugged off for several seconds.

Just before Minoth could set pen to paper, Lora shot up in her seat. "Jin!" she gasped, sounding almost as hushed-hissy as he had those seventeen years ago. "Don't you remember him?"

"Maybe," Jin answered vaguely. "Do you? Should Haze?"

"No, no," said Lora, distracted, swatting at Jin's upper arm with one free hand (the other was back winding its aimless way through the tips of her hair again). "When I was quite young. He dropped his pen..."

"Minoth," went the sanguine question.

"Lora," came the equanimous answer.

"How long have you had that pen, that Addam wants so badly for you to replace?"

Minoth shrugged, pursed his lips in an appraising fashion, held it closer in to the firelight for inspection. "I dunno. Seventeen, eighteen years, give or take? Why?"

Lora's eyes went to meet Jin's in a flash. Oh, he couldn't fool her; she knew he knew. "Silly," she whispered, biting her lip to keep from breaking out into giggles, and then she bounded around the ring of logs to meet Minoth.

"Don't you remember? Somewhere in...oh, I don't know, Heblin, maybe?"

She held her hand flat at about the level of his shoulder - he'd straightened back up in his quizzicality, so the measurement was fairly accurate. "A little girl, with red hair and ratty clothing?"

"And big golden eyes?" Jin added, not caring whether it was quite helpful or not.

"You--" Minoth frowned, worked his mind around it. Studied the twin looks of devilish amusement on Driver and Blade's faces (and Haze's, too, as well as Addam's, though he couldn't see the latter and the former was trying to tuck herself out of view).

And then, at last, he smiled, free of caveats for the first time in a long time. "Well. Nice to meet you again, isn't it? Glad to see you turned out okay."

"Me? What about you?" It wasn't as if the both of them had been all wobble-kneed during the exchange. Only the one, and it was the one who would collapse harder if his confidence had chosen to give itself out.

"Oh, that? Eh. I'm okay. Still got this, after all," he concluded with a waggle of the precious, all-important pen.

She'd gauged the situation long enough, waited for all manner of cues, and now Lora threw her caution to the wind and wrapped both arms underneath Minoth's and around his back. "You'll stay with us, won't you?"

"Doesn't seem like you'll let me get away," Minoth got out, half-muffled, as he gradually settled his hands into reciprocation. "This one's trouble," he said, to no one in particular or perhaps to Addam or to Jin or to both. So even as a child, Lora had had her charms, her winning ways with people. Of course she had.

"Oh, well." Lora pulled back, blushing, but slid her hands along to follow and keep a grip on Minoth's hands, which she squeezed warmly. "I try!"