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The role of 'savior' wasn't a familiar one for Ilmenite; despite his rise through the ranks, his no-longer-all-that-new position as a General, in many ways he still thought of himself as the new kid -- and likely always would.

When it came to the Rift, though, he was beginning to become more confident. As Captain, he'd been forced to hunt down his youma among the hordes of monsters ofter enough that it had become second nature, that he'd stopped even plotting ways to get Smokey to obey his orders and do as he was told. Venturing through the Hall of Shadows was practically boring [and that right there should have been a sign that he was corrupted beyond salvation], and he didn't even hesitate to light up a cigarette anymore, no matter how many times they warned him.

He paused, now, to do exactly that, eyes lifting up and around, face shadowed by the brim of his hat in the darkness. The end of his cigarette caught and lit his beak of a nose for a moment and he frowned, the Lieutenant's aura prickling against his senses, like a firefly. He turned in place, pale eyebrows pulled together.

The greeting got a blink; the retreat a flicker of amusement; the way she drew to a halt made him grin outright around the cigarette, pulling it from between his lips to tap ash from the end, his own head tipped to stare in the direction of that howl. There were things out here, naturally, that even Ilmenite didn't want to run into. That none of them did -- hell, maybe even Zinkenite had some ghosts he didn't want to meet up with, in the wilderness of the Rift. In general these days, though, Ilmenite was less concerned. Smoky would help him out, more than 50% of the time.

"Uh, lost?" His tone was dry, didn't really expect her to be lost. Ilmenite didn't chase, just stood and watched her, pressing the cigarette to his lips for another pull and rocking a bit on his heels. Relaxed. He could managed.

"Might be wise to stick with whoever hauled you in here, next time."

It wasn't exactly hard to imagine a Negaverse captain hauling a fresh new recruit into the rift and abandoning them as a test; not exactly hilarious, but it'd definitely weed out the fresh faces. If Fukalite had asked, Ilmenite would also have offered this as the reasoning for their ridiculous lieutenant weapons, though he'd add to that the fact that in many ways he missed his. Sure, duct tape hadn't been the best in one-on-one, but he'd had a couple experiences trussing up senshi that simply couldn't be beat.

At the request he made a noise, scratching at his nose with two fingers, cigarette still burning down. The smoke slipped out behind him, and at just the right angle, Fukalite might swear she saw eyes in the mist, something lurking and waiting. Another monster in the dark.

"How long do you have to wait?" It was close to a yes, Ilmenite still considering. A couple sparring partners meant he wasn't totally hopeless anymore, but -- he still preferred distance, between himself and an opponent. A lot of distance, if possible.

"I don't want to teach you bad habits." It came with a flash of a smile, finally; he took one more pull on the cigarette and then flicked it back over his shoulder, where it was swallowed up by the creature in the smoke, a there-and-then-gone humanoid shape made out of the swirling mist. Ilmenite did it thoughtlessly, familiar. Didn't even think about it.

He swiped his hands on his pants and shot a quick look around, stepping back away from Fukalite and into more open air, where there was nothing to hide behind. Eyes watched them, bright in the distance, likely only a General's aura holding them at bay. If only they knew.

"I don't really want to leave you alone, here, either. So. We can, but for God's sake, don't try to learn anything for me."

There was a frosty moment of silence as he looked her over; Ilmenite might have been cavalier about rank, might have been casual in comparison to some of his peers, but from the look on his face, that didn't extend to being called 'hun'. So he didn't answer for the moment, instead shoving his hands into his pockets, his own expression gone more serious.

The silence was a reminder. He did still rank her, no matter how friendly he was.

"No, it means I'm good at something. Exceptionally good at something. It doesn't necessarily have to be one-on-one, and in my case, since my weapon is ranged..." He summoned it, at that, rolling one hand so that it appeared spinning already, the silver and gold bolas catching purple light as they sailed in an easy, familiar arch. "...it's wiser for me to avoid close combat anyway."

"Bolas. Hunting weapon." He shifted himself, with perhaps a brief wash of relief in his eyes: Ilmenite was maybe not as certain of that bluff as he'd looked. Slowly, the bolas slowed, clicking together at the top and then sagging down ho hang loosely at the bottom. No blades, no real danger, just metal and ivory rattling together in his grasp, on a long stretch of braided cable.

"They're great for catching senshi around the ankle and then running. Or, well, back in the day, I imagine they were better for catching cattle..." But, his expression said, what was really the difference. He shrugged, looking her over, eyes shifting around them briefly and then back.

"I mostly collect energy. It serves best. But we can spar, it can never hurt. Try that again." He nodded to her foot, shoulders tense and still clutching at his weapon.

"Not -- s**t." Ilmenite wasn't exactly possessed of an athlete's reflexes; neither grace nor dexterity was his strength. It meant that, as he dismissed his weapon and brought hands down to block the blow, he was slower than he should have been. Knocked it aside, so that it glanced off his hip instead of catching him squarely in the solar plexus.Something was better than nothing: six months ago, he wouldn't even have been able to manage that.

His own response was a twitch thrust of elbow toward her shoulder, with enough strength behind it to drive her back if it connected. His arms were long enough that he might actually get somewhere. If he got lucky. Ilmenite drew in a breath.

"Not all of the Negaverse was meant for thug-dom."