Michael rather liked the territory that the Typhoon occupied. So much so that he would sometimes find himself wandering around it even when he wasn't looking for something to steal, or a sister to harass for cookies. It wasn't often that he found himself wandering for so long that the sun went down, but today was one of those days, where the dark haired male was surprised when he looked up and there was no longer a brightly glowing ball of fire cutting through the clouds. He felt a faint shiver run down his spine, as if nature itself was protesting the horrid warm weather outfit he was wearing, which consisted of tennis shorts, a white t shirt, and a horribly pattern hawaiian shirt tucked into said shorts. He had considered it the perfect outfit for when the sun was high in the sky and the sand beneath his feet was warm, but now all of that was gone, and he found himself rushing towards home, eager to be out of the cold.

He paused in his rush, however, when the scent of smoke hit his nose, as well as the sound of a soft yet confident voice. Glancing around, it took a moment for the half blind male to pinpoint where the singing was coming from, although he found himself smiling when he caught sight of Goldie. Moving over to the small fire, Michael stretched his arms high over his head before he moved to sit down, just leaning back a little to listen to Goldie's pleasant singing. His aviators remained perched on his nose, hiding his closed gaze from view as his jewelry swung lightly with the wind, glinting in the low light.

Octane's music was never soft much like himself. It was loud, fast, and passionate. His music exaggerated his own emotions, slapping his hands down or making faces in the mirror, slamming his head right into concrete.

He hadn't heard any proper music in a while though, not since arriving here. Goldie's quiet, lush tone was enough to make Octane stop and slow down. He approached from behind Michael, hands already shaking, body tensed like prey ready to run.

Octane wore a casual get up, a green crop top with black shorts. Running mask, goggles and hood equipped. His metal legs sunk into the sand, as he moved from the packed shoreline to the loose dry sand around them. Octane pulled his mask down, sucking in greedy oxygen, and pulling away his hood. Black hair fell out, green tipped dyes and revealing Octane's piercing-filled face.

He sat nearby Micheal, his legs kicking up sand like miniature shovels and sitting to cross them. His hands jittered, rubbing sand away from platinum, and letting his accessories fall into his lap.