#vllchr

Grinning up at their rival, Ranpo's attention is stolen, as it usually is, by Karl's curious little snout peering over his owner's shoulder. He looks adorable and certainly well-dressed for the season trailing a little cape behind him. They scritch him between the ears and try not to light up so obviously, but the enthusiasm in their nodding is impossible to miss. "I know! I mean, who doesn't? It's all I've been hearing about, I've been waiting forever to go.

"I was gonna drag, like, maybe Akiko or Atsushi-kun to the carnival, or something... Shachō wasn't really interested." They look a little bothered by it. Folding their arms over their chest, though a touch too eager to pout properly. "But if you're offering...~"

Ranpo leans forward, tilting up on their tip-toes to scoop up Karl from Poe's shoulder. Though a little startled, he doesn't seem to meet their arms with any protests, and they curl their fingers through his fur to make up for it, anyway. Far too endeared by the little cape that hangs from the raccoon's shoulders, they have to remind themself not to handle it too much lest it come loose.

"How come Karl is all dressed up and you aren't? We should wear costumes! Everyone else is doing it."

Overwhelm is nothing new. Such is the consequence of having such heightened senses. He's awfully prone to irritation and a little lack of focus when the environment is too loud, which is mostly why they can't complain about Tecchō's company, especially on salient assignments. But this is a festival, not a mission -- they're less inclined to just deal with it when there isn't a price or consequence on the line.

Wordlessly, they allow themself to be guided to shore. They can breathe a little easier, and shudder free of every accumulated, sickening sensation, once the thick of the crowd has been left behind.

Offering only a hummed response that vaguely sounds like approval, Jōno turns away from the crowded space to leave the noise behind him. They've broken through to a clearer area now, yet he doesn't make any attempt to shake his hand free. Rather, he shifts his grip just a little, sliding down to hold Tecchō's wrist instead, and feel its pulse beneath his palm. It's a comforting constant, far more welcomed thrumming throughout their skin than the bass of the music playing.

"Can you see the others?" Jōno asks, sounding doubtful. Knowing them, the remaining Hunting Dogs are likely stirring up enough trouble on their own to blend in with these erratic attendees.