=The St. Carmichaels, at home=
Byron was awoken from a dead sleep by the resounding sound of an explosion, which was a few blocks over, by the sound of it. He opened his eyes blearily, glancing about the apartment. For a moment, he wondered if he had dreamed it, as he continued to lay motionless on the worn down couch. He heard the clamor of stampeding people through the poorly insulated walls. Byron only shifted, sighing, before trying to go back to sleep. So long as they didn't bomb the apartment, it would only be just another day in Orpheus Lancele.
Just as Byron began to doze off again, Damien came parading into the room, banging the door open and dropping his card table loudly on the floor. Byron groaned, glowering at his brother-- neither of them were all too phased by explosions, as Damien's life was something of criminal, and none of that stuff was out of the norm. Damien, who seemed to be in one of those undeniable good moods, ignored his brother's grumpiness.
"Byron, I made a helluva lot of cash today, check it out," Damien exclaimed, fishing into his pocket and drawing out an uncommonly thick wad of cash, "It should last us a month, even more. Hell, we could even go out to eat, get you some presentable clothes."
"My clothes are fine," Byron interjected, "They still fit, they're still in one piece, they're fine." His tone was sharp and annoyed.
"Well, in that case, I could use a new coat. A nice red one, with gold buttons and fur lining around the hood," Damien said absently, strolling back towards the door, "Yes, I think I will get a coat. Hey bro, Dave's in twenty minutes? It's on me."
"Sure," Byron said, flopping back on to the couch. As if Damien needed yet another coat.
The perk about living towards the center of Orpheus Lancele was that everything you could possibly need was only a short walk away, including Good Dave's Dives. The boys went their often, but not often enough to be "regulars". Byron pedaled his monowheel the whole way there, beating Damien to the restaurant. After Byron hid his vehicle somewhere, he went in, and his brother arrived about five minutes later, sporting a new, red coat.
The two of them sat at a table made for four, facing each other so that they seemed to mirror each other. They both seemed dressed for an expedition, though Damien was in newer, more dashing clothes, and Byron was not. A well-dressed, young-faced waitress came up and took their order, her voice high and chirpy.
"I'll have a burger, ma'am," Damien said coolly, flashing a winning smile, "And a milkshake. Chocolate."
"And I would like a cheeseburger, please," Byron said anxiously, his eyes flickering up to the girl that was taking their order. Noticing that she was looking right at him, Byron blushed and quickly added on, "And a Shirley Temple, if that's okay."
Giggling at Byron's shyness, the waitress dismissed herself with her chirpy voice, walking away lightly. Damien followed her with his eyes, and calmly inquired, "Boy, she's a looker. Just enough curves. Don't you think, Ron-Ron?"
"I don't know," Byron said with a quick, dismissive tone, still a bit red in the face, "But, you could be a little less obvious about ogling her. It's embarrassing." Damien laughed, continuing to stare at the girl until she disappeared around the corner.
"You're such a prude, Ron-Ron," Damien chastised his brother, his eyes glittering. Byron said nothing, only staring out the window of the diner. From there, there was a clear view of the street where the explosion had been, and from there Byron watched what was happening. Damien had begun to ramble in his normal, monologue sort of way, though Byron wasn't listening-- Damien mostly spoke just to hear his voice, he never really expected an audience.
<<If I had an awesome quote, it'd go right here.>>