The world is grey for him sometimes – or perhaps it's more accurate to say he doesn't appreciate the colors he sees. Even the most beautiful sight dulls when you've seen it so many times. With age he's lost the vibrance of his own planet, and even with the tiny discoveries he makes every day he can't be satisfied. He has no time to waste on something age-worn with a barely-visible shine.

It is the most beautiful flower in the field he wants.

With gentle and precise fingers Chibi weaves the first flower – a fittingly regal purple - into his beard, works the hair aside and slips the stem in so that the blossom nestles next to his chin. He takes the next – bright red – and works it around the first, and Qilby sighs in contentment; he's always liked his hair being played with, wherever it is on his body. While Chibi works Qilby takes the time to study his face; the focused dark eyes, the tongue slightly peeking out from the side of his mouth, the scruffy white stubble on his jaw, they're all so old and yet so new to him.

The last flower Chibi has is a red rose, with its thorns carefully shaved off. He tucks it between his hair and his hat and smiles. "We're matched."

Yes, Chibi is positively radiant, with all the colors of the Krosmosz.