After his confrontation with Sofia, Julian wandered around for a while. He didn't really pay attention to where he was going, and in his travels, he wandered into the area of the city that contained several ruins. He didn't really pay them any mind, at least until he stumbled across one that he recognized.

The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning.

Even as it was, he'd recognize the place. It was his home, once. But like most everything else in his life that he thought he could count on forever, it was reduced to nothing more than ashes and rubble.

For a moment, he wondered if this was the Nightmare King's doing, but he knew the truth. He knew exactly who he was and where he was. He scoffed at the bitter irony of the situation.

"Who needs nightmares when this is your life?"

Her parents were together. They were happy again, and it was all thanks to her. But, while that trouble was now in the past, there was still another still lingering.

The Nightmare King.

Even after the dreams and the warnings, she knew that, when it came to it, she may have to finally stand up and fight. Not just to aid her family, but to protect her new friends - those like Yuri, Fletcher, Sherry and the others. She had to... or more importantly, she felt like she had to. They could probably help themselves better than what Vivio could do, but she couldn't be certain.

Which is why she's out training, using the same abandoned city that Nanoha tends to use for her own training. Already in her transformed state, Vivio has been busy sparring with the training bots, a combination of magic and Strike Arts being shown as small orbs of rainbow-like energy slam into bots too far for her to reach while others are struck down by her fists.

Part of her wants to show off, to come up with new attacks... and does so as she lets the familiar Belkan sigil form under her, then focused on her right foot. "Rainbow... KIIIIICK!" She delivered a pop-up kick to one of the training bots, jumping after it, then drop kicking it, unleashing the magical power into the machine. As she landed, her target in pieces, Vivio couldn't help but sigh.

Nanoha-mama would really disapprove of that... Vivio thought.

It was pink.

Arguably the most pink bus that Ben had ever seen on his way across the city towards the Sensoriums. He had heard about the bus from various people, but it was the first time he noticed it.

"Even Gwen's powers aren't this pink," remarked Ben with a grin. He couldn't read the text that was scrawled across the side, due to having no magical spark of his own. As such, he stepped towards it and boarded the vehicle.

The silver-and-egg shaped motif reminded him a little of some alien craft, the doors making him reminisce of Gluto, the alien that typically hung around Tetrax. Wondering how his friend was and if he was on the ship, Ben poked his head into the entrance of the bus proper.

"Hello?" he called out.

(ooc: primarily for Irma but anyone in the area can tag to him if they're visiting)

An angel in the sensoriums?  Not a sight one will ever likely see again. 

Castiel had, of course, explored every inch of the ship that he could, committing each location to memory.  Every corridor, every room that was capable of being entered, had been.  Every building in the city had been searched.  Even down to the last centimeter of the pod-caverns, Castiel had been to it all.  The visits had served dual purposes.  The first was little more than familiarizing himself with the environment.  If he was going to ensure the Winchesters remained safe, Castiel needed to be able to transport them to the safest location on the ship at any given time.  The second was, it seemed, to rob the place blind.  At least, that is how it might appear to an outsider looking in.

Sitting in a pile in one corner of the sensorium was every silver item Castiel had been able to find.  Some came from the pile that Sawyer had started down in St. Peter's before the zombie battle.  Some of it was taken from the palaces and museums within Vatican City.  More of it came from the various other abandoned buildings.   All of it sat on the floor of the blacksmith workshop that the sensorium had produced upon Castiel's request.

There was smoke and soot in the air.  Immense heat emanated from the massive furnace that stood at one end of the room.  At the angel's request, the safety protocols had been turned off.  This wasn't just a mere illusion of a smith's shop...it was, for all intents and purposes, a smith's shop. At a work bench, the angel poured melted silver into one end of a mould, reciting what sounded like an incantation as he did.

Each bullet was made the same way.  Each from a fresh mould.  Each mould carved by hand.  Each mould was blessed before the silver was added to it. The incantation was spoken each time the silver was poured in. When each bullet was removed from its mould, it was cooled in a tub of holy water--brought up from the Vatican-- then dipped into a basin of holy oil--also from the Vatican--and then set aside on an immaculate, white linen cloth to dry.  Designs were then etched into each bullet by Castiel's steady hand before it was finally allowed to join its brothers and ready to be used in the Colt.   

The bullets were made one-by-one.  The next was never started until the first one was finished.  It was a long, arduous process, one that would have long ago bored and frustrated a human.  Which was why Castiel was doing it.  The Winchesters, especially Dean, did not have the patience for it.  He did.  And they were going to need every single one of these bullets now that Dean had recovered the Colt.

Getting around the ship, well, that's doable for a mouse. A bit of a trek, maybe, even on the small scale that is the ship's living quarters level (he hasn't even tried to go elsewhere), but Caelestine can manage it. He is one of the Guard, after all. But there's one difficulty—

Here, in the Mess Hall, all the equipment is scaled for humans—or, at least, for things rather larger than mice. Caelestine's clambered his way up onto one of the tables and is staring over at the food dispensers. Even if he got it to spit up one of those trays, it would be far larger than he could carry... And so he's stuck here, a little mouse in an ochre cloak with a mouse-scale greatsword slung across his back, trying to figure out what to do. His feet hang forlornly off the edge of the table.