5 places Corosa would choose to get away from Satero. (from tenshinoakuma)

1. Desert. It was all too easy to get lost in there.

But Satero was just as insane about the desert as Corosa was about Prontera. The moment Corosa tried to turn in that direction, he'd get tackled to the ground. And wrestling with close to two hundred pounds of mastersmith was not exactly the time of his life.

2. "How the fucking hell did you get all the way up there one-handedly?" Satero roared, from about twenty feet below, standing next to the guncase left at the base of the trunk.

"Painfully," Corosa answered from up in his tree. He couldn't even feel his left arm now.

His mood was not improved any when Satero was suddenly struck with the brilliant idea to snatch Corosa's guncase and run off with it, cackling gleefully all the way.

3. In the rain, and the night. Satero didn't quite like getting cold and wet and miserable, and neither did Corosa, but at least it gave him some measure of peace while Satero slept in what little shelter available.

Though Corosa didn't quite mind, either, when the mastersmith gave up on sleep. There was one night when Satero sat down and slung an arm over Corosa's shoulders. They remained like that the whole night. And Corosa didn't mind, really, because neither of them spoke a word.

4. "Goddammit, never, never do that again," Satero growled, yanking Corosa close. And he refused to let go, as if he was afraid that Corosa would disappear once more, diving for far too long and far too far into the sea.

5. When Satero got throughly drunk, he tended to be unable to associate names and faces with memory.

"So, uh, who am I fucking again?"

"...Trust me, we haven't met."

"Ah. Right. 'S what I thought."

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5 times Corosa actually let someone (besides Satero) help him. (from brownie, Ruthlyn on FFNet)

1. "Gods, getting drunk at four in the morning was not a good idea..." Corosa groaned, holding his head. He wasn't drunk now. No, not anymore, obviously. His last drink had been almost an hour or go. Or was it half an hour? Or two minutes? He couldn't recall anymore, but it hardly mattered. There were, at this moment, very few things in the world that mattered more than the headache ripping through his skull.

Why had he thought that downing all the alcohol in sight was a good idea?

He couldn't remember the reasoning behind it. Something about a need to make sure there was someone else alive aside from him. Something about three months of darkness, among other things.

But gods, his head hurt.

"Headache?" someone else asked. Without waiting for an answer, they pushed a mug of something across the table, towards him. "This'll help."

Corosa muttered his thanks and drank it all in one go.

2. Young adventurers did not brave the desert all that often, and neither did old adventurers, at that. Corosa's pride was stirred just slightly by the fact that he'd held out on his own for a few days. Which was more than could be said for most, especially when they were first-timers, and moreso when they were completely alone.

But eventually, he'd had to hunt down one of the friendlier nomadic tribes and ask--beg?--for their help.

Traveling with the nomads had been one of the most rewarding experiences in his life. True, he loved the desert no more than before, but now he had the means to survive there.

3. Corosa's city of birth was Einbroch. But in his entire life, he'd only been there a total of two times. When he was born, and when he joined the guild. And he knew his way around the city well enough, but there was no likelihood of him entering the city ever again. That knowledge was now obsolete.

What he needed to know--what he did not know--was his way around the ruined wilderness of that region. Or at least where the cities were from his position, so that he could avoid them.

The sandy-haired mechanic had looked at him with a raised eyebrow when he'd approached and made his request.

The boy chewed on his fingertip, then said, "You don't know...so you're not from around here?"

"No. Born here, but lived elsewhere."

"Ah. Well, right now Einbroch is about two miles north of us...if you head west you'll come across a bridge, that brings you close to Lighthalzen, and Einbech is northeast of here..."

4. "Oh, no."

Corosa looked up, surprised by the sudden appearance of a rather downtrodden priestess. The woman looked as if she'd just been mobbed by an entire city. But there was still enough life left for her to look down disapprovingly on Corosa as he tried to bandage a cut above his knee.

"See, now, when the bandage gets soaked, you don't take it off, you just put another layer on top of it..." And without even a word of greeting, or introduction, or normal pleasantries of any sort, the priestess squatted down and started to give Corosa a lecture on wound care.

Corosa listened without uttering a single word.

5. A long time ago, Corosa remembered, he'd woken up in the middle of the night with a host of thief bugs crawling over his belongings.

They'd scattered as soon as he'd gotten up, but many of his valuables--including his house key--were long gone by then.

And so a month later, he'd found himself standing on the doorstep of his own home, trying to explain how a lock worked to his five-year-old daughter on the other side of the door. And she, while all too eager to let him in, had no idea which end of the key went into the lock.