It was only a matter of time before he found his way to a café, of course. As dusk overtakes the city, he settles into what might be the first semblance of calm since he arrived. The closest thing he can muster, given the circumstances.
Still, no matter the place, coffee is coffee. It's not the kind of brew he'd normally be having, but close enough to sate the craving for the time being. His heart still weighs heavy in his chest with uncertainty, but his soul is warmed, even if just for the moment. Eyes flutter closed, and for a moment, he begins to believe that maybe he can clear his mind long enough to think.
Until he smells a Crow among the crowd.
It's not exact. It's more... nostalgic than it is familiar, even. Like a forgotten face you can't put your finger on. Like the coffee in front of him. Similar components. Same ingredients. But... different.
He walks away from the coffee shop slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the crowd, trying to decide if he is in danger. The smell swells, and Spite turns his head in the direction of a face, a sense of déjà vu falling over him. But this person cannot possibly be familiar. The horns alone paint a picture of a world foreign to his own...
Something tells his body to tense, to attack. The other tells him to relax. He falls somewhere in between, fighting Spite for control when he finds himself SMASHING into the stranger, his coffee spilling across both of their cloth. It's not quite scalding, thankfully, but certainly going to leave a stain.
"¡Mierda!"
@corvisque
