It is night, about 63F(17C) degrees, and there are clear skies. Ankle high mist flows through the area. The mist is heaviest At Birch and Hart/span>/span There is a waning gibbous moon.

“Funnily though-” Annabelle concedes, after a pause. “I totally hit a sick 50-50 on a handstand while Ambroo kicked me forward across a tight-rope. If skateboarding can make a different, I think painting probably can too.”

“And yes, plenty of creepy paintings. And truly horrendous ones, too. And I don’t mean those that people make while learning. I mean ones made with expert skill that you just wonder…. why.” Navessa frowns at a blank spot on the wall, but shakes her head a little brushing away whatever it might have been. She steps back after a time and gestures, removing the gloves. “I think that is the best I can do.” A beat and she looks from Annabelle to Ambrose. Then between them once more before finally her gaze settles on the vampire. “Ambroo?”

And — blessed be, the magical hold over the Quarter’s remaining graffiti seems to wane, between Annabelle’s chatter with Wonder, the adjustments made by Navessa, and the cleanup performed by Ambrose. “It was a trip, yes. I also made Alice run into a wall, but she was a raccoon at the time.” Those are certainly all words, breezed past, with a similar nod to follow to the redhead. “Ambroo. Ambroseph. Ambrose before hoes. Ambivalence. Ambien. Asparagus man. There’re a few floating around out there.”

“Yeah, I should stop sound like a baby it isn’t really attractive.” Annabelle responds in a smile, pattering along the words with a non-committal shrug.

“Asparagus man w-was-” Annabelle laughs hard enough for it to be silent, just the hiss of breath in through the night revealing her mirth. “Was pretty funny. Love that monk just sometimes.”

“Oh, no no.” Navessa reaches out to place a hand on Annabelle’s arm. “I did not mean to insult you, I’m sorry. It’s just difficult to imagine anyone calling him Ambroo seriously. Ambien I can see. Same with Ambivalence. Ambroo…” Shoulders rise and fall in a bit of a shrug, but she does let out a slow sigh as they return. “Well. I may have been on my feet longer than I should have been.”

// will note that logging is still going, going to disperse