[Genuine is perhaps too soft a word; he almost seems to regard it like a figure of worship, like the bust of a god or a statue at an altar, the apothecary the weathered church or shrine.]

[And it is. Sort of. From one ancient, imbued object spirit to another: respect.]

[Rokurou's grip and reassurance have Nansen glancing back with a confused blink, and then a laugh.] Hahaha, don't worry about meow! The sooner we find both our blades, the sooner we won't gotta worry about lookin' out for each other, right?

Anyway, let's see what she can tell us! Nya!

[He claps his hands together in a quick prayer before he eagerly presses the button on the front of the machine, setting it into motion- whirring gears and lights, all the pizazz and showmanship of a cheap carnival machine sure to impress and delight children ages 3 to 8. And after all of that, eventually, a fortune. It prints out with a clicking chucka-tacka-tack, fresh ink on paper, and Nansen tears off the stub and holds it proudly in the air like a prophet holding aloft commandments from his god.]

[The fortune telling machine was "just" a machine, and yet it felt like it was watching them. And somehow, someway, its fortunes always seemed to be more accurate and ominous than they ought to. Maybe there really was a spirit asleep in there, somewhere.]

[He hands it out to Rokurou.]

Well, what'sit say, gorogoro!?