Kit is in the process of straightening up from his crouch on the side of the street, injured bibiru tucked into the crook of one arm, when he hears the click-click-click of the wood-slatted shoes on the ground.

"Well, well."

Kit turns. He knows that voice. He'd know it anywhere.

"Hey," he says, looking up at the Medicine Seller within the shelter of the umbrella--a deceptively simple greeting given the sudden flicker of unguarded emotion in his eyes, in the warm smile he gives to his friend. Give him a few moments, and he'll have control over it again, because he's cool. They're cool.

He tries to laugh and reaches out like he might give the Medicine Seller's arm a nudge, but instead ends up just touching him through the blinding rainbow of his sleeve. "It's--ancestors, it's good to see a familiar face."