@crimedynamics
It’s a beautiful morning. The sun’s shining, the bird’s are singing, and there’s a vending machine flying through the air at breakneck speed. It seems to almost float, mid-air, until it tumbles back towards the ground, crashing down to earth with a deafening thud. Several cans and bottles spill out from the broken machine, its last signs of life -- the cheery, pink colours of its lights -- die at long last.
Mordred appears soon after. Plucking a can from the mess, she takes a sip, then crushes the beverage. “Bleh! Lime?! Seriously!? First you take my money, then you give me lime? Argh!” Her revenge is a swift kick to the broken machine’s side, further dinting its twisted corpse. Then, like that, it’s forgotten. Mordred turns and, scanning the street, finds someone who looks less then petrified by her display.
“Hey, gramps. Yeah, you. Where’s the closest cafe ‘round here? All the vending machine’s in this area are broken.”