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Being freaked out by the shapes in the crystal was nothing to be ashamed of. Ilmenite made every effort not to look, himself, turning fingers to tuck under her chin, to scratch hard through the long fur. He wasn't timid, wasn't afraid to dig in there. And she was much more likable, when she was purring...

" 'And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air,' etc etc, 'and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth'." How many Negaverse agents could quote the bible like that? Probably not many; it wasn't a group of people inclined toward any religion but Metallia. If Ilmenite were wise, he'd probably drop it, too, but he couldn't yet. Not quite. His faith had been worn horribly thin, showing darkness on the other side, but it hadn't snapped just yet.

Maybe when he hit General.

Stepping out of the threatening hallway, he finally scooped her off his shoulder and tossed her gently toward the ground, raising an eyebrow. "You're creeping, I think, right about now. And I suggest sticking close. We're hunting down a smoke youma."

"They don't." It was easy, simple, straightforward -- unapologetic, and maybe a bit judgmental. He shrugged, hands dipping into his pockets for a moment, trying to remember what he'd done with the rest of his youma bait. Something stupid, obviously. Maybe he'd dropped it. Or had he smoked it...?

"I assume you have a sharp nose, there, puss." He did, at least, have his lighter, which meant if nothing else he could start setting random s**t on fire and hope that the smoke attracted his youma inward. Ilmenite flicked it open and closed a few times, and then kicked back into motion.

"If you smell smoke, other than, you know, my permanent cologne..." He'd keep his pace slower, at least, so little kitty legs wouldn't have to move too furiously to keep up. "Just let me know. Anything else you want to see, while we're here?"

"He likes shadows, but, well." Everything here was shadows. Ilmenite waved it off, still ambling along not-quite-familiar pathways and trying to pretend that he knew the area better than he did. He would be able to find his way back, that was for certain -- but the place was still new, still fresh. It was like moving into a new school, or a new apartment building: objectively, he knew how to get from here to there. Realistically, when it came to taking that turn...

So. They'd take a shot in the dark. Try to follow kitty's nose, and Ilmenite would find another cigarette to use as a lure. "Why did you want to come in here, anyway? Seems a bit dangerous for you."

"No offense, kitty, but if a senshi needs to come through here, I strongly suggest you don't take it upon yourself to bring them around." No; that smell was just the way it smelled, the smell of youma shifting against each other, creatures in the shadows that turned unimpressed -- and unfriendly -- eyes toward the small cat passing through their midst. Ilmenite frowned, paused, and once again scooped her up into his arms.

Just in case.

"You give an officer a call. I'm sure they'll oblige, give you a hand." Ilmenite, at least, had no prejudices against the corrupts. Not having lived with Lyra, not with his budding partnership with Alunite. He didn't scowl at the strangers in their midst.

When the right smell did come, Dahlia would have no question: a drift like stepping into a smoker's car, old and cloying, burnt and suffocating. That was Smokey, turn left and a hundred feet down. It was, however, unlikely that he was alone.

"Yeah, but I think the rank serves more than the hands and eyes." A shift in the air, and even Ilmenite caught the breath of smoke on the wind. No way to tell where it was coming from; he frowned and came to a halt again, turning slightly in place, searching for the telltale flicker of glowing eyes in the darkness.

There were some there, alright, just not the right ones. He made a little sound, annoyed, mouth pinching into a tight line.

"I think he's mocking me again. Goddamnit. You smell that, right kitty?" Had she given him her name? If she had, Ilmenite had already filtered into the 'not important' part of his mind. A reminder might be in order.

"Mostly because if I kill my own youma, I'm pretty sure that's like shooting myself in the foot." It was grumbly, though, because -- well, she had a point. The fact that he so frequently couldn't control his youma was embarrassing. Insulting. Ilmenite fought the urge to grind his teeth as he dug out his lighter and eased toward a familiar pair of eyes.

"He might eat you, so I'd play nice." For the time being, though, Smokey [yes, definitely him] oozed back deeper into darkness, gone halfway transparent, almost dissipated. It was hard to tell if he was mocking them or retreating from the thread of an angry officer.

"For the love of God, don't laser my youma." It had, in fact, been a joke; he frowned, digging out a fresh cigarette and his lighter to wave at the youma. No reaction, no step, no reply, nothing except belligerent glaring in reply. At least, not until he lit the end, and the first tendrils of smoke started to curl up, carrying with them the heavy scent of tobacco...

Then Smoke oozed forward, slowly taking shape as he did. Misty coalesced into a shape shockingly similar to Ilmenite's frame: tall, skinny, sharp-angled, narrow-eyed and grinning. The youma reached out to snatch the lit cigarette from Ilmenite's fingers and devoured it before turning his attention onto the cat.

A huff, frustrated, a muscle in Ilmenite's jaw twitching. "...not this time, anyway. If he pulls this s**t on me again, I might see about severing ties and just tossing him to the senshi..."