The mannerism is well noted. Elian wonders if he's done something wrong, frowning a little as he bends over to open up the bag. "Well, I'd hoped for a better area to do it in, but - you remember how I mentioned that sword, those days ago, when I'd returned to the network?"

And there it is- almost like a claymore, with a broad blade that seems to be made of some metallic blue alloy, intricate designs upon its flat and hilt. Elian draws it out with a mixture of uncertainty and memory, the latter in the way he instinctively cares for it; whether or not he's self-aware remains to be seen because there are certainly mixed feelings on his face. He sets it down on the bag but remains in a sort of kneel, bracing a hand on it as he looks back up.

"I had another of those pulses, and I'm no longer certain it is just a sword."