fade in:

he stood perfectly still at nicky's reaction in that distinct way of a prey animal that had been stumped out of all its other instincts. some confusion to the sinking of his brow, a puzzled twitch to the corner of his mouth. "i.. i am telling you with a straight face," he said, but the way yujin said it wasn't particularly convincing. like he had now lost the plot himself, and no longer believed his own words. his gaze turned to luna, like he needed to check if his own toddler was in fact standing in front of him. "nicky, that's illegal," yujin said. "you can't sell kids, that's literally illegal." as though most of what the two men were involved with wasn't illegal, too.

"You literally--" A hand cups the side of his mouth as he stage whispers, "--kill people." Side-eyes the kid, though it's spoken lightheartedly. It's an important part of their business. Without it, they'd fall apart. He thinks it's in the same category as accounting: necessary, unfortunate, and vaguely disturbing. "That's literally the most illegal thing you can do. That, and math." He shrugs. "So fine, since you’re not ‘selling babies’," he throws up a pair of air quotes, “why don't I not ‘help you’ to find a not ‘buyer’, and get me in on some of that 'not existing pie’?”

A hard roll of his eyes, shaking his head as if the conversation was beneath him. Between the ring, the endless indignities of the day, his ruined suede shoes, he finds his patience hanging by a thread. "Yes, that's clearly what I was suggesting." The sarcasm barely leaves his mouth before she steps forward. "What--" Jerking backwards, her hand disappears into his pocket. His reaction is immediate, more startled than graceful. "Stop it-- Can you just--" He bats at her hand, scandalised. "Mind! Your! Hands!" After her paws are away from his general vicinity, a faint flush creeps across his cheeks despite himself. "What is it with you people?" He demands. "Do you have no sense of personal space whatsoever? You do not just touch people as you wish." Ring recovered, dignity decidedly less so, Christian takes a dramatic step away from her, then another, choosing a path around her rather than past her. It is only then that his gaze catches on the scar. The mark looks familiar, uncomfortably familiar. His eyes linger a second too long before darting away, blinking rapidly, jaw tightening as though willing the reaction from his face. But the damage is already done.

"try me, i'm a surprisingly quick learner. even if i do get distracted awfully easy, so try to make it interesting. if you can, of course."

"You would benefit from not being spoon fed all of your information. Try thinking for yourself, you’d be amazed at what you can achieve."

Christian freezes at the sound of his name. There are some voices memory preserves with unreasonable clarity.

There’s barely a reaction at that, only the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth -- a reaction too subdued to what would normally be a far more passionate critique of Rift Valley. He recognises the tone immediately: the careful casualness, the way she attempts to talk around a wound. It brings him back years in an instant. He is reminded, suddenly, of Los Angeles. Of standing outside her apartment with his phone still in hand, staring at a string of unanswered messages. Of the moment the door finally opened, a lingering figure stood behind her. I finally left him. The familiar knot of concern tightens in his chest—and then, just as suddenly, unravels. Everything she says after that seems to fall into the background. Christian goes still. "You left him." The words are repeated carefully, allowing the truth of them to settle in his mind at its own pace. "Good." The single word carries far more feeling than he would normally allow. "I'm glad." His voice is quieter than usual. "Are you safe?"

luz froze in her step, mouth momentarily stuck in an oval shape of surprise before it snapped closed again. "right, okay," she mumbled, "do you want me to turn around? i can just not look at you while asking for an interview. though.. that might look at little weirder than if i did look at you."

"The direction in which you're facing is not the issue." A beat. His brows rise slightly as the request finally registers. "You wish to interview me." The question is accompanied by the first genuine spark of interest he's shown all day. "Why? Have you cleared this with the network?"

ANGEL HAD ONLY BEEN making an attempt at being a good samaritan -- which they rarely ever made the conscious effort to do. the shoes looked expensive, far too much so to be ruined by tripping and falling over their laces. thus, they remove their headpones from their ears -- the sound of coffee shop chatter filling their ears and replacing the amyl and the sniffers that had been at top volume.

The response catches him off guard in a way he'd be reluctant to admit. For a moment, the irritation he'd been preparing has nowhere to go. "Oh." His gaze drops to his shoe. "Well... Fine. Thank you." The gratitude sounds slightly unfamiliar coming from him, as though it hasn't been exercised in a while. "These are nubuck," he says, gesturing vaguely toward the shoe. "From Saint Laurent's Fall collection. The material marks very easily." A long and deep exhale leaves him. "You may, in fact, be the only helpful person in this town. I should learn your name."

"Fine not a friend and definitely not friend shaped," Cassie says, hands going up in the air. He pushes his wheels slightly so that he backs up from the other man. He was simply trying to help the other. It's practically his job. A job that he did well. He tends to forget that some situations don't need his help. Mostly those were social ones that he was clueless about. "Well you're acting dramatic. How the fuck was I supposed to know?" Cassidy asks, eyes rolling heavily. "We're all a little tired, dude." He snorts at the fact that this guy thinks he doesn't get as much attention as himself. "I'm Cassidy. And sometimes being disabled gets me unwanted attention," he tells him gesturing towards himself and his wheelchair.

"Pardon?" Christian blinks once, brows drawing together in confusion. "And what exactly is being friend-shaped?" The phrase hangs in the air for a moment. Increasingly, he finds himself surrounded by people who speak in a language that technically resembles English while remaining entirely incomprehensible.

pamela didn't really notice whoever was sitting on the bench when she approached. she didn't really care for him either. she just wanted to throw away her empty coffee cup on the trash bin next to him. yet he spoke and drew her attention. "ya know, for someone who's trying to lay low, you're kinda full of yourself." her eyes rolled, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone. or maybe it was boredom. she nodded her head toward him anyway. "you're stepping on a puddle, by the way."

His gaze drops to the puddle. And then, quite abruptly, he takes a step back. Or rather, jumps back. He stares down at the darkened patch creeping across the suede with growing horror. "Well, that is just excellent." With an aggravated huff, he flings his hands into the air. "Thank you for informing me. Your urgency is exactly what today needs," he says drily. "These are one hundred per cent suede. Do you know how difficult it is to restore wet suede properly?" A sigh. "Of course you don't."

nico blinked once, then looked over his shoulder like the man must've been talking to somebody else before pointing at himself. “me?” he asked, unable to hide the faint amusement in his tone. “babes, you're the one making a scene.” his brows lifted slightly as he glanced down toward it. “but...now i'm really curious about the kind of day you've had.” a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “because you look like you're about three inconveniences away from fighting a parking meter.”

Christian grimaces at once. "Please." His eyes narrow. "Do not call me babes." Christian couldn't even overlook the word itself. The grammar, especially, was impossible to defend. His gaze drifts over Nico briefly, lingering just long enough to suggest he has reached a number of unflattering conclusions. "I may be having a dreadful day, but not such a dreadful day to begin discussing my personal affairs with you." A beat. "Are you not from Florida?"

Why he feels compelled to share this with a complete stranger is unclear. Perhaps it's because she looks as though she might understand. "I have run out of Crème de la Mer." He closes his eyes once. "And the only moisturiser available locally feels suspiciously similar to wall paste." His expression darkens. "It is appalling. I feel hideous."