Jameson. Jimmy, as Michael had jokingly referred to him as after the cubs had been born, earning him a slap in the leg. He didn't know much about that particular cub, aside from the details that Roxie had shared with him. Unlike the rest of his sister's children, Jameson didn't seem to have the same faintly wild streak that she had apparently passed on – or Greed had passed on, or perhaps a healthy mix of both. He was quiet, enjoyed the quiet around him, and wasn't as keen on following after Trygve as the others seemed to be. Michael had told Roxie promptly that was a godsend, since he was very sure that Ry was going to grow to be one hell of a troublemaker. Roxanne seemed worried about how Jameson acted, but Michael had just shrugged it off, figuring that if the kid wanted to be more social and loud, he would grow to do so eventually, he just needed some time to stretch his legs a little. It seemed as though he was right, at least about the stretching his legs part.

The bobcat had been woken that night by the sound of something being knocked over in the kitchen, and after shoving Trevor off of him to go investigate, he had found out Wade the rat had just knocked over one of their dishes. It was hardly anything major, but Michael had never been great at getting back to sleep after being woken up, so he found himself wandering outside, figuring a little walk would tire him out enough to sleep. He wasn't expecting to come across Jameson along the shoreline, but he didn't lose his shit just yet, seeing as the boy didn't appear to be hurt or in distress. Remembering the whole thing about him not appreciating noise, Michael glanced down at his paws for a moment in thought before he walked over, sitting down beside the boy with a little bit of space between them. The dark furred male stared up at the scars twinkling in the sky before he mumbled softly, keeping his voice quiet and curt, "Pretty, ain't it?" He didn't say anything more after that, just keeping his gaze focused upward into the clouds, admiring the beauty even though he could only see half of it.

Octane never slept well, rarely made it to his bed, in fact. He was the type to go hard all hours of the day, stay away until two to three AM easy, then pass out. When he did make it to his bed, he might as well have been dead. Nothing could awake Octavio when he slept, it took multiple alarms or, in the times he ended up in Caustic's bed, the scientist would elect to push him onto the floor. He was a kicker though, and that was the second reason he would end up in Caustic's floor.
Octane left his home again, intent on pacing the shore line again and ah- someone to bug. Good. Chirping leaves his throat as he approaches, "Hey, Amigos, what are you guys doing up this late?"