SUNDAY NIGHT — o, joiner

[Grey]

Walking. Most events in The Typhoon always started with walking. It was always aimless - patterned by the rhythmic landings and launchings of his weight, the heaviness of each stride transferring from one foot to the other. He misses the way it felt to walk on two legs. It felt less balanced but he also felt more freedom in his movements. He could pivot on his heel, change directions immediately, and now he had four paws to clumsily move about on. He was more stable this way, less likely to fall, but the confines of having four legs made him feel like a table, fixed and unable to move. And yet here he was, doing what everyone else was doing: walking. He was walking to nowhere, disappearing and allowing himself to be overtaken by the hands of elsewhere. He's unsure what he'll find, banking on the idea that strange things always loved to unravel before him when he was out walking. Of course, during Bakugou's directionless walk, his eyes were always peering about and looking for anything of interest. His hues darted about like agitated pixies, restless as they zip into the tree-lines, dash into the bushes and skip carelessly along the soiled grounds. It does, however, leave him to notice pawprints and the lingering scent of Marcellus.

Seeing as there is nothing better for the Reaver to do, he fancies himself to a game of seek, curious to see where the male must have head off too only to be led towards the railroad tracks to see the piebald king cheetah accompanied by an albino doberman. At first, Bakugou hesitates to come closer, unsure what kind of exchange is going on between the two before seeing Marcellus turn around, begin to walk away, only to be followed by the doe-eyed canine. He steps back a little, reanimating in almost a defensive but rather confused stance when he sees the two begin to get closer. Their features are starting to align and sharpen, the Reaver able to notice the creases and sunken in belly of the doberman. He must be absolutely famished, on the brink of death maybe... but Bakugou still isn't sure, flicking an ear when he begins to walk himself towards the pair, catching the other's name as Latterday. "Seriously? Ya pickin' up dead corpses along the railroad now?" the Reaver asks, though this is more in a playful manner towards Marcellus (not that it'd stop others from interpreting otherwise from his usual nasty attitude). He's in no mood to be aggressively patted by Pincher, no mood to be lectured by lowlifes who didn't know their place. He had, after all, been in a coma for twelve days. He would rather not be so angry that his intestines exploded on him. "What d'ya eat, L- uh... Litterday, was it? Ack, whatever it was."

He was never good at registering names into his memory bank.