The Sandman himself walks down the street, in the Waking world, wearing a long, dark coat in an attempt to mix with the humans, but also to maintain some of the serious and regal appearance he has while in the Dreaming. He’s not alone, though, which makes his humor slightly better. His child follows him closely, looking around at everything with wide eyes and a curiosity that can’t really be found on someone even slightly older. The kid’s cautious, though, not wanting to attract much attention to them both. It’s almost evening, but there are still people outside, and he prefers to avoid getting any weird looks from them for the moment.

Morpheus continues walking, his expression as impassive and thoughtful as always. His black hair is all over the place, like usual, but he doesn’t mind at all. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. Either way, his slender, pale hand occasionally reaches down to discreetly pat his kid’s head in one of the biggest shows of affection that the god can physically make while in public. He’s not used to making these outings while accompanied, after all.

The comfortable silence continues stretching on and on, until Dream decides to break it, never slowing down in his gait.

“Are you comfortable, child? Or is the air too cold for you while in those clothes?” He asks, his voice betraying his concern despite the sheer inexpressiveness of his tone.