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[foundationmods]

After the collapse of the Winchester house, everyone will have some time to regroup. The dead can be given bodies, everyone can have the remnants of the miasma washed away, and the 2000's group can be brought up to date on what's been happening for the last twenty years. It's been a long day, and taking time to process it all is probably in everyone's best interests.

But they won't get to rest for long. About an hour after the house's collapse, several all-black vehicles will roll up on the site of the former Winchester house. Most people present should recognize the uniforms and logos plastered all over everything: this is a cleanup team, the kind sent in after a successful containment to make sure the locals don't talk about what happened. It must be nice to have a somewhat-positive reception for once, huh?

But along with the group, a certain misty-eyes O5 will make their grand entrance. And as they step out and look over the group, they have something important to say.

"You did it. I...thank you. Thank you for saving them."

There's still details to handle and paperwork and interviews to do, but that is easy compared to what's already been done. With everyone's efforts, a potential XK-class SCP has been neutralized, saving the world itself, all without any permanent Agent casualties.

You all have exceeded Foundation expectations.

Congratulations.

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[Fluttering and forward momentum paired together is considerably more coordinated and graceful than Subete is capable of at the moment -- he's still fairly steady at the table, a lifetime's worth of table manners sunk into his very spine and all of his sloshing wayward sensibilities just at the moment, but in between contemplating phones while not at all contemplating tomorrow and following that familiar flash of scarlet in Hikage's stare he loses track of a little more time.

So there's a soft laugh once they get upright and he gets a good look at Hikage's new sheepdog look -- he has no free hands but he's all about making his amusement known all the same, and he's swaying a little where he stands, somewhat stumbling when they get moving but by some miracle keeping himself on track by reeling himself in by their joined hands. See, there are several practical reasons to be holding hands right now, even if he keeps forgetting that's what they're doing while navigating the strange waters of San Jose on sake.

There's a hum as he reorients both his vision and sense of balance away from red and black and purple and back towards the rest of the world, and tries to account for the extra weight of a bottle of sake and two donburi.]

A hotel... For tomorrow and, I can probably-- [it's his turn to gesture, but once again: zero free hands so what he does manage to do is swing their hands a little before shaking his head and shrugging, look, he tried] --and the shoes, too.

[It's completely unclear what he's supposed to be doing about the shoes, or anything, but it's probably an agreement. That's pretty much the mood for the rest of their ridiculous trip to this hotel -- keeping hold of or leaning on each other at intervals, doing their best to keep out of the street, being a little too loud at who-knows-what o'clock and basking in the warm glow of streetlamps and what is probably not just drink. The long-absent hints of stars beyond the city lights don't light the way, but they're a silver lining on the evening all the same.]