It's weirdly... lonely, actually. She'd gotten used to interacting with her host. Is it tired? Grumpy? Giving her some time to herself for inscrutable Typhon reasons?

Well, it doesn't leave her alone forever. In the morning, it pokes her head outside to peer inscrutably at the now partly cloudy sky, then packs up all of Lauren's stuff and leaves the building. It shifts to full Typhon form, then flits from building to building again, carefully shepherding the backpack along and leaving Lauren awake for the entire trip. Like before, it clearly seems to know precisely where it's going and how to get there. This time, the chosen destination is the CN Tower. It scales the building with relative ease, then perches at the very top. It has excellent balance, but it wraps its tendrils around the tower to steady itself against the wind anyway, taking great care to anchor itself properly. Apparently it doesn't want to take chances. Once this is done, it begins carefully constructing and unfurling large thin sheets that are angled towards the sun to catch light. Most of its mass is shifted into the panels or the anchoring, but it doesn't dismantle everything. Some of its torso stays intact, as does its head.

It keeps Lauren awake but unable to move until it's settled in, then lets her have control of the head. Apparently it thinks this would be a bad place to let her have full control, but will tolerate letting her look around.

...this is kind of fascinating.

She watches the water of Lake Ontario for a minute, then turns to scan the city for signs of life, human or otherwise.

It's the first time she's really felt the scale of what happened to her city. There's no lights, no traffic, just empty buildings and abandoned cars. Webs of orange light shine here and there, and smoke rises from a scattered handful of fires.

Her Typhon adjusts how they're perched, occasionally, to keep their balance or to catch more sunlight or for some other obscure reason, but otherwise leaves her alone to look at her city. The city is quiet and sad. From up here, it's hard to spot individual Typhon, but it's not difficult to see their effects. Toronto has had a tough time of it.

They're up there for a while. Nothing disturbs them while they - recharge? That seems to be what's going on, here, anyway.

When she's had enough of the city, she looks back at the water. It's less depressing out there.

It is.

Eventually, her Typhon stirs. It folds up and swallows the sheets, spends a few seconds reintegrating the mass into shapes more convenient for moving, and then summarily flings itself off of the top of the building.

She startles briefly, but—the Typhon probably knows what it's doing.

It pulls in all of its moving parts, becoming a relatively smooth black mass that has very little wind resistance, carefully cradling the backpack inside itself. They rocket to the ground at an alarming speed. Her Typhon lets them fall for a little while, then their mass shifts and it expels a burst of energy, shifting the direction of their fall. Instead of rocketing down at an alarming speed, they're speeding down and over, towards the water. It changes its propulsion just before they reach Queens Quay, shifting so that it pushes them up more than over, slowing their descent.

Even with this change, the seagulls are alarmed by a large black mass dropping out of the sky; they scatter. The Typhon shifts its propulsion system to send the both of them rocketing towards one, then sends a tendril forward to snatch it out of the air as they fall. While understandably alarmed, the seagull's struggles and unhappy cries do nothing to free it from the shifting black mass. It's pulled in for Typhon cuddles just as the three of them neatly land in the middle of the street.

Eating a mimic is disconcerting, but eating a seagull is worse. Lauren has a front row seat to the feeling of the Typhon forces itself down its throat as the seagull wriggles and tries to scream. Mimics struggle, but they don't struggle this much, they aren't so obviously afraid of their own demise, and integrating with them isn't so... messy. The seagull isn't eaten all at once, its systems don't tidily begin obeying the Typhon's will immediately. Its human passenger can feel the Typhon chewing off bits of it from the inside out, picking them apart and then putting them back together and forcing them to move. All while the poor creature struggles and tries to scream. Eventually, the seagull's struggles still. Within a few minutes, the Typhon finishes its meal.

The Typhon fiddles inscrutably for a little while after, testing out muscle structures and feather shapes, then peels off a mimic-sized chunk of itself. The blob of Typhon-self blurbles in the street, then shapes itself into a perfect copy of a seagull. For a few seconds it sits, unnaturally still. Abruptly, it cries out in alarm and clumsily flails in the street, confused. Exactly like a seagull just got switched on and is very alarmed by its sudden change in circumstances. It rights itself quickly enough, then flies off.

Her Typhon takes a little while to rearrange itself in inscrutable ways, then puts the backpack down and reforms back into a Lauren-shape.

It then returns control.