Genesis laughs, turning back to the weedy fields, and sparking a flame in his palm. He dances the light over his knuckles, like a living beast scampering between the digits and over the back of his palm.

"Now, why would a metropolitan man like myself know anything of the sort? Don't confuse me for my husband, Strife." His voice comes in such a languid drawl, teasing the blond for catching on.

"As for supplies, no, I haven't much besides a few shovels and a tiller Charlie loaned me for the project. But I suppose for now, they will do. Machinery doesn't seem so common here." He sighs. Even Banora had a community tractor the locals shared (and that Genesis routinely repaired). Somehow they've ended up even more backwater.

The same hand that holds the flame points towards the fence line where some tools lean against the dilapidated boards. The spark curls around his wrist obediently, instead of flying off in the same direction. "The patches towards the entrance have been trodden enough to need to be shoveled first before I burn out the roots."