The first sign of danger Raw gets is the quiet thrumming to the back of his chest as Kalm starts to growl faintly. That's when he feels it too, the old, bitter, sickly-shiny malice. Kalm may not know what they mean, or at whom it's directed, but Raw knows. Raw feels it, and through him, his young charge feels it too. "Well, he certainly never put his predilections on display like this before," the first one sneers (and Raw's mouth twitches in the hint of baring teeth). "Certainly not. One might surmise the medicos left out the part that knows proper manners when they put his brain back in." The two of them guffaw merrily, and Raw makes his way further into the crowd, away from the ugly-spirited men and their acrid mumblings. This is not the time for defending their friends, their second family. It will come another day.


Wyatt smiles, one hundred percent up for Glitch's shenanigans. "Okay, ready?" Step, step, twirl, flip. He keeps a steady hand on Glitch's, and around his back, careful not to drop him even if he loses his footing. As if he would, but just to play it safe.