Somewhere in Las Noches sat a figure. Garoux Lobosolo was sat on a piece of rubble he had personally acquired and moved to this spot as a form of seating. The unyielding discomfort of it suited him just fine. Kept him on edge, alert and attentive. Kept him from sliding into distracting contentment, kept his mind on the task at hand, which at this moment consisted of whittling away at several branches taken from the crystalline trees of Hueco Mundo.

The Numero sliced off a segment of crystal - razor sharp along one edge, his hierro rendering the other, less deadly edge holdable. Its balance wasn't perfect, but he could work on it easily enough. And so Roux returned to his work.

((OOC: He's ready for Vincente to discover him whenever, KD. ))