#fault.starter

location: ✨ wherever your imagination takes us ✨

“God. What is it, asshole day?”

josephina santoro was dead, and yujin was... angry. surprisingly angry. he had been running on empty, only adrenaline. he wasn't mourning her, wasn't capable of that. bodies, to yujin, were just that: dead before they hit the ground, most of the time. and if they weren't, he would finish the job. there was something lodged in his stomach now, something between dread and utter frustration. if the mob hadn't been capable of keeping its dearest princess safe, what chance did anyone else stand? he needed coffee. he needed to keep going. he didn't know what goal he was aiming for, only that he wouldn't get there if he stalled now. so when he exited the coffee shop, a cop of americano with six sugars clamped in his hand, he hadn't exactly been paying attention.

he bumped into them, shoulder first, the movement incredibly harsh; he was a lot more considerate usually. or at least, capable of that consideration. now, there was only this: reactive violence. he turned, looked at the victim he'd just made, rolled his eyes.

"oh, i am so not doing this today--"

He glanced at his watch, noting the time. He was on the move, particularly to head toward where Dulce was to finish her shift. If she had not known she was guarded, she would know now. He didn't do late, rather liked to be on time. however, of course someone had decided to either get in his way, or mistakenly end up on his path. "Move along now." he stated in a tone that seemed bored, but otherwise montone.

despite the unlucky string of events at the masquerade ball, sinners and saints was moving like nothing had transpired at all. violence and disruption meant little to nothing when met with the prospect of a killer night out, a drink, a warm body or two. the lights flared in a way that made the heat created by a thick crowd of moving bodies more intense, the music loud enough that romy could've confused the thrumming base for the pulse beneath her bare neck. maybe she shouldn't have been there, what with the rising tensions and her affiliations; the arrest and surrounding murders. maybe it was negligent, careless, or worse—purposefully riding a very thin, very dangerous line. but her close proximity to the rift riders was feeling more distant as they days wore on. yeah, yeah, romy had made her choice, started down her path, so sue a girl for still wanting to feel on the inside of something. for daring to care about her family's goings-on. it was possible she was just nosy. perhaps someone should let her be! she'd been on the edge of the dancefloor when her eyes caught with someone else's near the bar. it was possible they'd only spared a flickering glance, but equally so that they'd been watching for several minutes. it didn't matter. maintaining her gaze, romy excused herself from the group she'd befriended on the floor and strode in the direction of a drink—of the other. this should be interesting. "not one for dancing?" romy started once she was close enough to be heard, forearms meeting the bar and eyes cutting towards the bartender.

Head down, face covered. No one seems to notice him, and yet--

"No, no, please--" A dismissive hand wave towards the first person who makes eye contact. Immediately, Christian thinks he is about to be swarmed by fans. "Do not make a scene. I am not in the mood." For signatures, to be recognised. "I have had the most exhausting day you could possibly imagine, so please."

Like a good boy, Sid had dropped the old mustang of at the Butchery, got paid well for his trouble, and had walked the almost half mile back to his bike, parked on a double yellow outside a neat white row of cafes and shops. He had his sunnies perched high on his nose, but they never did sit quite right anymore, not after the surgery. He thumbs through the bills, cause he's a cash only kinda guy, and counts that shit twice. The bills are folded neatly into a little ridge, and tucked down deep into the front pocket of his jeans.

Sid wonders if it's too late for breakfast, and was this technically lunch time. He glances at the old Rolex on his wrist, the face so scratched he can barely see the second hand ticking. A coffee would be good. A bagel would be even better. Frowning to himself and debating the pros and cons of a balanced breakfast, Sid throws one long leg over the saddle of his bike and reclines forward onto the T-bone. He's about to start digging for his phone, when he spots them. Straightening slightly, Sid grins and inclines his head toward them.

"Lookin' a lil' lost-" he calls, accent thick and curling. A old timey, distinct Brooklyn drawl. "-all the good shit in town is thata'way-" he inclines over his shoulder with a tatted hand, though the gesture is vauge at best.

"yeah, yeah- really fucking funny. you're a real fucking comedian, i can tell. now, where'd you get that?"

his fingers trembled, the grip around his phone loose enough that one wrong move would send it clattering to the ground. sure, josephina and him had never been particularly close, but not being joined at the hip did not mean he'd wanted to see her dead. she'd been family, after all. the same blood and family legacy running through her veins that still held him up and kept him moving. only now, it felt like it was threatening to let go of him and leave him to crumble to the ground next. anyone could be next. anyone. rosa's face flashed through his mind, followed by giada and arisa and all the people he cherished, like a sick little slideshow that had his insides twist.

right when he tried to get a better grip on his phone, he felt someone try to brush past him on their way to a table. all of a sudden, the dark and oppressive bubble of his own thoughts burst and sounds flooded back to him. francis flinched, almost losing his grip on his phone and the coffee he held in his other hand. "dammit," he swore as droplets of hot liquid splattered onto his fingers. perhaps that was what he got for stopping dead in his tracks in the middle of a busy coffee shop. he glanced up, trying to see if the other person had spilled anything on themselves as well at his jumpy demeanor. "you good?"