Days to nights; countless orbits past boiling hydrogen. It is a rough estimate of time between Lisa's past to present reincarnation. The time between her last arrival to desolate, present forthcomings.

And she didn't even have time for tea.

"So you decided?"

It was just past sunset; a gleam of flickering ember the only telltale sign of life in a dry, insect-ridden landscape. With all due respect to that which chirps quietly in the abyss.

"Perhaps," Lisa spoke into the unknown. Her eyes parted from the dying fire to the vocal direction her handler. Her commonly expressionless face didn't break character; she wasn't shocked to note his appearance to her precise location.

"It may have taken a year, but you did well? Lisa."

Her poking stick, nothing greater than excessive drywood, was crunched beneath the pressure of a forefinger meeting her thumb. The debris was flicked into the wasteful remains of smoldering ash.

"I see. Then you are not pleased by this decision I take it?"

"Not really," she conceded. Mercury filled eyes drank in the appearance of the frail, thin man that came into her view. Despite the darkness, he implored on the usage of those dime-sized glasses that hid away his eyes. He was but a shadow in his attire; a fitting appearance to his methods of handling.

Lisa's head drew to the left, a directness that withdrew him from her interest. Her back arched, pressingly more firmly into the comfort that was her blade; discernibly erect in the soft earth, and her only method of relaxation. It bested even down feather beds.

"The boy is here, however."

"Is that so?" Her question excelled with feigned curiosity. It didn't matter; despite the possible protests a mere year previous.

"Oh? Your staggering social endeavors with the humans have ceased?"

"By your accounts, is that applicable, Rorel?" She flaked the splintered wood from her fingers; it draping carelessly onto a bare, petite thigh. It metaphorically declared her continued wishes to be left alone. Unable to, despite being crushed and left to dissipate.

Those stories of Teresa were not fabrication, however. She knew that her ties were bound indefinitely. And that stupid child had to assimilate.

"Hmm. Perhaps not."

Was he amused? Did he smirk like that on purpose? Her vision decided not to test that assumption. The back of a hand dismissed the grime from the inside of her thigh, smoothed to completion; much like she had wanted this interaction.

"Then what is it you wish to exercise, Rorel? I don't presume you're here because you wished for company."

"And you know me so, Lisa dear?"

"Call it a woman's intuition." Even Lisa could allow a light sheen of humor every now and then. A daring chance was made in a glance to Rorel; the smirk was perfected in a curve like a crescent moon.

"Very well, Lisa. Stand up. We've much to do."

The declaration, an order that she would abide by no matter the inner protests at heart, was the first step of many that would follow. Her bare feet crushed dried leaves and grass as she tucked her legs in to spring to her feet; a smooth transaction from her sitting posture. Turning, she faced her handler in all her glory. Devoid of pride a woman of her age may possess, with arms extending like Mr. Anatomy on a medical poster.

She was vaguely clothed in rags. Not the guise of an urchin, for she was far too old for such; but a cleverly designed craft that she mustered solely to appear crazy. It kept the conversation away.

Rorel was not one to run from such social standards. Perhaps it was the relationship.

"Not too bad for wear. You've been avoiding trouble, I see. Scarring to a bare minimum."

The singular ragged attire was dismantled; shrugged aside like a jacket upon arriving home, leaving the woman exposed to her handler in full. Rorel's fingers, chilly to the tips, examined Lisa's flesh with massages and gropes; assessing the entirety of her figure without shame.

Her eyes didn't flinch; her body still. It was a resemblance to an engineer maintaining his robots.

"I admit impression. Very good, Lisa. Very good."

A child praised for a perfect test score? Her small figure refrained from previously described "Pride".

"We wish for you to return to the city. Your childish friend has been inexcusable. Your search for the awakened creature will be put on hold until then."

Her small body shifted, head rising to meet Rorel's possible gaze straight-forward. "Inexcusable?"

"As I said, 'Inexcusable'. You will handle this, personally."

Rorel motioned with a single finger to his left, motioning to the supplies that contained her Organization uniform. And a second time back to her. He was like a conductor; a constant string of fluid motion that could make you seasick.

"I trust this is not a problem for you."

Yoma was a specialty. Children, especially those no longer the standard, diluted commodity. Mercury wavered between marbles of ebony.

"Understood."