The map is put back. Not useful, not his. Sephiroth will find it if he ever bothers to look later. At least the compartment will remain dry. Probably.

It doesn't matter.

...And yeah. It's better to have an eye on the world outside. The former Turk pokes around the crates for a minute or two to see whether they open easily. What? Does he look like he has a massive, heavy bar of metal to go smashing around to break them open? Bullets are precious.

Having only 'slightly' less hair to worry about may have led Vincent to not bother with the act of trying to dry it. They'll need to go out again soon and the truck's cab's soaked. So.... it's anyone's guess that the reason he's not doing the same as Sephiroth is indifference or catching a glimpse of the other man's actions and feeling a sting of awkwardness over making a similar gesture.

...This isn't helped when he finds his own strut to lean against. Still, this gives Vincent time to study the other man and wonder at the circumstance. It's enough to cause his shoulders to shake a moment in silent laughter. But since there are serious matters to speak of, it will be fleeting.

"...I know." Feathers. Scales. Wounds he took during the fight no longer hurt but they do itch. He's not sure what that means. "Birds brought it." In a way were it. "But there's something else. I don't know. My friend and I found ourselves here just before it hit." A pause.

"You?"

Come to think of it, Vincent isn't sure how long Sephiroth's found himself in this place.