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He had hit home and hit the pillows and gone down long enough to catch his breath. The battle, on top of lingering fatigue from the [temporary] death of a disobedient and over-eager youma, had left him yet again looking pale and thin, the jacket of his uniform hanging crookedly, his shirt draping loosely around his frame.

Smokey hadn't showed up at the battle, and hadn't shown up to mess with him since, and it left Ilmenite a bit worried. This time, there had been no cat to harass him at the entrance, nothing to distract him from his journey inward. It had seemed like a brilliant plan, hunting Smokey down, but it was a bit -- unrealistic, really.

The problem was that he couldn't sniff his youma out and lure him in at the same time. He could either hold a lit cigarette between his fingers as bait or he could keep his nose in the air for the scent of smoke, and he had to choose.

So. He did one then the other. Twenty minutes of sniffing around and now, cursing, he'd lit up and sat down -- somewhere high, so he could see what was coming -- to wait it out. Halfway through the cigarette and no sign of Smokey, he spotted the familiar uniform and beacon of red hair.

He moved fast, if not well. It meant Obsidian would hear footsteps before Ilmenite came up on him, would smell the smoke clinging around him, a familiar scent. When he opened his mouth, the dry words would definitely not come as a surprise. "...you know, I haven't woken up with my hand in a bowl of warm water in a week or so. I thought maybe you were dead."

The split in his lower lip had faded from a mess to a slight swelling, which meant it didn't really hurt but was still ugly. The bruising around his eye was almost gone now, only faintly yellowed. Even after getting his a** whooped a bit in the final battle in the stars, he looked better than he had since the BMC fiasco and --

That was a depressing thought, because Ilmenite still looked, in all honesty, less than fabulous.

He brought the cigarette up to his mouth for one last drag, shrugging at Obsidian and then holding it out in offering. He was willing to share, especially since it didn't seem to be drawing any hungry youmas out of hiding...

"Smokey -- ah. He's gone AWOL a bit. I think he'd still sore over this almost getting him killed thing..." Putting it lightly, but hopefully it was okay. He doubted Obby cared about the details.

A wise man would have ignored Obsidian's brief cough on the smoke, would have let it pass without comment. A wise man would, more than that, have pretended he didn't even notice it.

Ilmenite wasn't a wise man. As he took the cigarette back with a laugh, genuine, and raised the cigarette easily up to his own mouth. Was it wise to be proud of the fact that he could suck life-threatening smoke down without a wince or a grimace, blow it easily out of the corner of his mouth? A grin still toying around the edges of his mouth, Ilmenite shook his head, lips parting and a pithy quip forming on the tip of his tongue.

Ilmenite's turn to go surprised; smoke puffing out of his mouth with the last of his hair, rapidly turning pink in the face as he curled down around the hand in his stomach. The cigarette, alas, was lost -- and damnit, he couldn't really afford that, right now. There had still been half of it left, but once it hit the floor of the Rift, not even Ilmenite would pick it up again.

Just a moment, and then he was able to suck in thready breath, both arms still folded over his stomach. He was mostly proud he hadn't fallen down. Six months ago, maybe...

A word slithered out of him. Hard to make out, but it sounded like 'excessive'.

(( IT SAID ORP SO I HOPE POSTING IS OKAY D8 I can delete if not. ))

"It's probably because the training regiment has been going soft ever since Charonite was put out of commission," a sneering, drawling voice offered.

Uranophane stood a ways away with the usual scowl over her face, having stopped in her approach to the area in order to watch the exchange take place. The voice could only have been hers; it was as pressed and bitter as ever, and her chin was jutting pointedly at the fallen General, her demeanor every bit as disapproving as Obsidian's remark. Then again, being disapproving was her natural state of being.

She was never happy. Especially not in the Rift. The General put no effort into hiding the fact that she despised the place, and even she had initially been a bit disgusted with herself that she had taken a trip down here of her own volition. Her hair was disheveled, the braid a half-unraveled mess, and the pen-knife in her hand was fully extended into its sword form. It was slicked over with some kind of thick and stringy tar. Apparently, Obsidian hadn't been the only one with the idea to go on a recreational youma hunt -- or at least she'd had to fight one off on the way down, the bloodthirsty bastards.

"At any rate, I wouldn't smoke while you're down here, Ilemnite," she continued. "There's no saying what the hell that could draw in."

It had already gotten Obsidian's attention, but they could do worse.

If Obsidian was surprised by the new arrival, he'd carefully concealed it. His eyes ran over her for a moment, taking in the grim and grimy look about Uranophane. Somehow, she was still very much the same as she'd always been, just when she'd first been recruited into the Negaverse. Now, however, she had honed those skills, and he eyed the remnants of her handiwork splattered all over her weapon with appreciation.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," The general snorted, but he was pleased with Ilmenite's response somehow--probably because it was hardly convincing. "Allies--at least until you get them murdered and they're too mad to come back. Something like that." The redhead turned and straightened, eying Uranophane once more.

"Trouble in paradise, General?" He crooned, sauntering closer so he could rest his arm on her shoulder, apparently unafraid of close, physical contact.

He'd lost his cigarette; it now sat at his feet, and Ilmenite stared down at it as he rubbed at his face. If this had been the human world, he probably would have picked it up and offered a colossal <******** you to the prospect of germs. But it wasn't. This was the Rift, and the result meant he had no clue what might grow on this floor, what weird goodies the youma might have left behind for the unwary.

Sighing, he stepped forward to stomp it out.

"What about hell, then, General?" He flicked Uranophane a look as he asked, the question not quite sly enough to be knowing. Too light-hearted. Maybe Ilmenite wasn't aware of her recent troubles. He shook his head, smoothing hair back out of his face.