[ti]closed[/ti][002] To The Cloud District

At the sound of his friend’s distress, Sprigatito eats his half of the sweetroll as quickly as possible (attempting to swallow it whole like Kitten proves too much of a choking hazard; he resorts to frantic hamster bites instead) before launching himself at the Ursaring pelt, tracking sweetroll sugar everywhere. <LET GO OF MY FRIEND! PURRENDER!> He screams, batting at its ping-pong ball eyes.

Kazuki blinks, looking around. “I’ve seen my fair share of insane walk-in closets, but this is… a lot. It’s almost like a prison.” A prison for medieval fashion designers with an extreme fixation on headwear. Mad hatters, if you will.

But as they’re bathed in the warm light of the inexplicable cooking area, a shadow stirs, and Kazuki audibly yelps as what he had presumed to be a discarded bust comes to life, the sole occupant of this godforsaken place turning towards them while half-submerged in the floor.

The toddling offers them a mild greeting, before promptly breaking the laws of physics in the most jarring manner possible.

“Holy shit!” Kazuki steps back as the boy rattles through the ground, the sound of his movements as pleasant as a knife dragging against stone. He cuts across the room like the world’s most grotesque Olympic swimmer, dislodging the furniture from their placements, and his joints from their rightful places. Reality itself seems to warp, like ripples in a pool.

Kazuki does as any sane man would when faced with an abomination.

He hurls a sweetroll at it.

The puffy pastry plaps against Howard’s cheek and stops his approach entirely. It bounces off his shoulder and lands perfectly in his open palms, and he marvels at it for a moment, before his little mouth twists.

“This isn’t what I asked mummy for!”

“Yeah, well, sometimes we don’t get what we expected,” Kazuki grimaces, stepping behind Verai. The kid’s frown is clipping through his skin like an upside-down Joker face.

Howard huffs, throwing the pastry on the ground, where it protests all manner of collision and goes shooting into the ceiling. “I! Want! My present!”

“Told you he’s a brat,” Kazuki mutters by Verai’s ear. “Just kidding, kid! Your gift’s right here.”

He grabs hold of the Cleffa egg carrier by the straps, shoving Verai and the egg fastened to his front towards the little anomaly’s outstretched, glitching grabby hands. He does not stop until the shell of the egg collides with Howard’s hand, at which point a pop-up fills both the players’ screens.

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