“Thanks, guys.” Greg smiled broadly as he methodically seated himself near -but not too near- Kenji on a playground toy. He rested the takeout bag on the ground, waited a moment to see if anything tipped over, and then partially reclined himself. With his hands behind his sandy blonde head, he looked into Aiko's eyes. “Surely only a marvelous singer would deign to perform a personal concert in such a mundane venue,” he said, putting his expansive vocabulary to use. “I am honored that you'd allow me to be here.” After Kenji spoke again, he gave a theatrical bow, inclining his head and placing a hand over his chest. His face was the very picture of sincerity, almost comically so. “Yes! Pray begin.”

-=-=-

The molten eyes of Ironclad flared up, indicating he was about to reply with a no doubt scathing retort. Before a word passed his lips, however, he tilted his head to Seraph on his left, whose face was marked by an admonishing frown. Faced with such an expression, Ironclad seemed unable to speak—it was obvious that Seraph held some sort of power over him. A keen observer might even guess (correctly) that he, the cold, malicious metal warrior, had feelings for her. How uncanny!

Quicksilver Seraph, meanwhile, was observing that Breaker seemed on edge and and Sonata appeared mocking. It was clear to her that both were expecting some sort of conflict. She couldn't blame them; the azure magical force that had blown a hole in the negative and allowed Crisis Sonata to end its miserable existence would be enough to intimidate anyone. Turning away slightly and staring into the neutral ground, she responded, “We all must perform acts we would otherwise avoid to survive. Midwinter's Envoy has cruel luck when it comes to negatives; he journeys far and wide, ever at work, and always seems to draw them near. I cannot thank you two enough for helping to rid us of this one.” The room was illuminated, both literally and metaphorically, by her beaming, grateful smile. “Northeast lies to your left as you walk out of our doors, but we would be poor hosts indeed if we let you do that without proper acknowledgment of what you've done.”

At this, Ironclad gestured with his head for he and Seraph to speak alone. Simultaneously dreading what he was going to say and wondering if he might have a rare helpful insight, she turned her back to the other alter egos and leaned in close to hear him. “I admit these two may be capable warriors,” he conceded in a whisper like the drawing of a blade from its scabbard, “but are we sure we want to furnish them your hospitality?” His usage of 'your' was particularly prominent, but Sera was glad he was at least being honest. “We could have slain the monster on our own. Egos kill things like that and worse on a daily basis. They don't need incentive to be here; they need directions away." Seraph considered his words, a sort of blend of her expectations, callous and thoughtful both. “I'll think about it.”

She didn't think long, for as she turned back to face the egos, she was talking already. “We won't try and keep you from your journey, but if there's anything you might need before you depart, do not hesitate to ask.”

In the background, Midwinter's Envoy pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning on and walked farther away, clearly disinterested with the newcomers.