#cerebralbleu

Safe travels! Your semi-hiatuses have been noted!

@cerebralbleu merry Christmas from your secret Santa, huhu. Ft. The worst Christmas card you could possibly get.

Bonus: they could literally fix everything with three beers

"Say, this place looks neat."

It's definitely way too close to closing time for the studio to have guests - particularly guests like Mahito. He kicks his feet at the front door of the building, hands braced beside him as he taps his foot on the concrete.

He had a flesh-and-blood body now. Maybe he could do something fun with it. He didn't know how tattoos would work with his Idle Transfiguration after all.

It was a special day to commemorate anyways.

The stark contrast between the area surrounding the massive canyon of the Fibonacci ward and the downtown area continues to confuse him. The housings built upon old, old technology, versus the dizzying high-rising modern buildings. He didn't like either of them, yet found himself wandering outside time and time again, rather than closing himself within the small confinements of his room.

If he wouldn't move his body, the stiffness would return. Every morning feels like his joints are set in rigor mortis, as if whoever had brought him back to life had dragged him out of a grave with bare hands, haphazardly dusted the dirt off and told him to walk again.

Maybe it isn't far from the truth.

The sounds of the city surround him from every direction, his gaze distant and posture ever so slightly slouched down. Instead of numbing down his thoughts, the hassle makes it worse. How typical.

Seconds before his mind slips out of focus, his steps come to a sudden halt after nearly passing by who he'd thought to be yet another faceless stranger. Faintest frown tugs at his expression, the moment of realization reaching him seconds later.

Vash's walking pace through these familiar dark streets matched how they had been in the world above. That feeling of being watched by something beyond full comprehension, integrated with the air itself, now led to a new dread... Whatever this observer was, it might not have stopped watching even after his ascent back to the living.

It might have always been watching.

His own eyes catch the sight of a familiar stranger still. The Stampede's remaining left arm aches with the desire to use the wire of his own; to pull Legato Bluesummers out of danger. But there was nothing for it for now, not when it was a purposeful decision to leave the prosthetic and weapon at Home for the sake of Legato himself.

The puppeteer's attention seemed to be ensnared, his frozen-still body fully facing the scrying glass of a false shop display; if this had been in daylight, it might have been mistaken for the more innocent enthrallment of window shopping.

It's a purposeful decision for Vash not to look into the window, himself, as he approaches the freshly-revived other. In his peripheral sight, he can still see that he does not appear in that warped reflection.

So he's able to take Bluesummers by the arm, attempting to pull them both over to the spots of artificial light made by low-humming streetlamps. Unlike his time with Frye, the Typhoon is markedly more capable of speech and cohesion. Chalk it up to experience.

Somehow, Cthoni has managed to find her way out of the... bright ward that she has been placed in for residence. She is so unfamiliar with just walking, that it's too foreign. Still, she somehow has found some paper scraps to write on, and she's taking note of interesting places.