There he is. The cryptid of Big Dipper. The one who isn’t himself, that is. Grimm is fairly certain he’s never seen Ogata make many attempts to interact with anyone, which is odd for someone employed at a talent agency (even if he’s just security) considering theatre folks tend to be wild. Or maybe that’s why he doesn’t? He’s interested in being annoying, either way.

Bar hopping, Yamazaki already smells a bit like whiskey. It’s not out of place and he’s feeling fine–he’s a large fellow so it tends to travel slow. His tolerance high.

He holds mundane conversations with bar tenders and other lurkers. A snake coiling ever so slightly around prey before it becomes bored. Outside this particular bar, he puts up a hand to a flirty, drunk individual.

“You have my number, sweetheart, go sleep off the alcohol. It’s pretty late ya know.” A lie. But it’s enough to get them to go away without any need for shoving. Ah, oh, he’d love to shove. And punch. And stomp!

“I so wanna play with somebody…” he intones in a higher pitch. “She wouldn’t’ve put up much of a fight though. What’s the give without the take?” he whines.  

Before the bloodlust gets any stronger, they’re gone. Turning to the bar door he opens it with his width of his left arm. Checking his phone at the same time. He pockets it, having made sure he has enough for one more drink at the least, and sits next to a stranger that takes his interest. Fur coat draping over the stool.

Not like there were many here to choose from, anyways.

Slicking back his own undercut, he gives him a smile that doesn’t hide much about who he really is. 

Mariela was done with her collection for the day. It had started to become a passing joke with the carriage driver and some of the villagers of The Mistwood that whenever the girl was lurking around the village had welcomed a legendary yeti into their midst. Mariela hated to be thought of as a monster but it soon became clear it was a joke. She had to admit that she often looked ridiculous, covered head to toe in plants and herbs like a Shambling Mound or some sort of dryad. She was on her way back towards the center of the village when something tugged at her fibrous coat. Shifting her attention to the ground she saw a small cat that had been biting around her ankles.

Mariela bent down to pick the cat up eliciting a loud mewl of protest from the animal. Looking over its collar she was relieved to see that it did have some tags on it. Apparently her name was “Bullet” and she belonged to a resident here in Mistwood. She walked over to one of the villagers and asked where she might find the address on the tag and was directed down the road to the edge of the forest. Though the cat was a wriggly thing she seemed more than occupied knawing at the fibers on her shoulder. Luckily these plants wouldn’t hurt her to chew as they were used for healing medicine, so Mariela just let her do as she pleased. The girl reached out and knocked on the door a few times but if anyone was home they were slow to answer.

In her own experience, all dreams were connected— existing in a separate layer of reality, all contained within the Dream World. There seemed to be no such place here, however. Not that she often had a need to dwell within that realm when her own allowed for enough ease of travel. Even accessing another’s dreams directly was no issue to her, all thanks to her powers. But it certainly was a curiosity that she couldn’t help but ponder on.

At any rate, these thoughts came often when she explored people’s dreams here— and would quickly fade as soon as the new scenery made itself known to her. The ominously, green wooden double door looked out of place against the low wall along the warfront’s trenches, and as did Okina once she emerged from it, seated casually in her hoverchair. Immediately, the sound of gunfire was apparent to her— bullets whizzing past near and far.

“This sound... it’s not one I’ve heard in quite a while. Though, what I recall wasn’t quite like this. Tanegashima rifles certainly were a louder tool,” Okina would muse, turning to look at the nearby soldier— a smile quickly creeping onto her face. 

“I recall the soldiers looking quite a bit different too, heh heh...”

“Hey, is this the place with the famous hot pot?” they asked someone on his way in, the question coming from behind him and that cloak. The enthusiasm in their voice wasn’t hidden in the slightest.

Had the person at the door perhaps announced themselves, Rinnosuke might have opened it— however, after a minute or so, the knocking would stop. Having just finished cooking, he walked back to the part of his house that acted as the store and sat his bowl on his desk, letting out a slight sigh. “Hm. Perhaps I should have checked after all...?”

“... No, there’s no helping it. Closed means closed— right, Laika? ... Hm?” Laika, who had been by his feet, was looking up at one of the windows to Rinnosuke’s rear. And sure enough, he’d turn to look as well. “What’s that, a Mistborn? ... Gyeh?!”

     There he was— Ogata Hyakunosuke, staring directly at him in the dark, only illuminated by the sole light coming from Rinnosuke’s desk. Setting his chopsticks down with some mild annoyance, Rinnosuke walked over to the kitchen and slid open the rear door, looking out and over at the man standing underneath an autumn-dyed cherry blossom tree.

“Do you realize what time it is right now? We’re closed. Honestly... was there something you needed, Ogata-san?” The man can’t help but sound somewhat cross, but he maintains a straight face.

The way Ogata wears doesn’t remind everything where Darius lives. He looked bit of Ionian for a reason but he’s not hostile to anyone unless provoked. Big man with a wooden axe is fairly new here, so this could be a time to be civil as Noxians do when they aren’t on war against rival nations in his world.

In a place for a drink, he’d want a glass.

trick or treat....