[Everything else is noise. The apathy of a crowd hoping to see more than crying young ones, unaware or uncaring about the weight of the regrets on display. The shadowed steps of an impossibly large wolfhound, one that he has seen before in nightmarish form, slipping past his ankles and settling in front of the two crying figments of memory beside them. Balmung, at least, is blessedly stoic this time; a far cry from when the sky was raining blood, and he found himself caught up in Van Ziek's nightmare, where the hound then had been all bared teeth and dire threat.

It allows Sholmes the privilege of focusing where it's needed, continuing to direct his attention to his old partner and not these baleful images that exist only to torment. How long has he been here, frozen to the spot, forced to hear their cries? He curses his inability to have arrived sooner.

And yet, despite everything, he forces a smile onto his face. He is practiced in the art; only Mikotoba himself might be able to sense a hint of wanness in the curve of the grin.]

Ah, quite problematic, and yet it is perhaps one of the easier conundrums presented to me during my stay in this place. Now, you'll have to forgive me ahead of time, dear fellow, for my boldness.

[It's hard to tell what he means until he's already partway through the motion: bending down to sweep up Yujin, one arm bracing his knees and the other supporting his back. Sholmes straightens with surprising swiftness for a tall, lanky man of no actual muscle definition, carrying Mikotoba bridal-style with zero self-consciousness.]

But the faster we depart, the sooner these images dissipate. Quite simple, all-in-all.

[He starts walking!]