[center][img]https://68.media.tumblr.com/5237eea7a92b2d8439e6c9c203ec65d7/tumblr_oa7rlsPx3P1rvvhg3o2_540.gif[/img]
[img]http://fontmeme.com/permalink/161208/06292890b14b60feed02ab13564ffc44.png[/img]
[color=7799bb][b]Location:[/b][/color] Yoon Residence -> Main Street 
[color=7799bb][b]Interacting with:[/b][/color] Broken glass[/center][hr][hr]Eight a.m. on a cold Sunday morning. James Yoon woke up feeling like the wrong side of the bed, bogged down and lethargic. Worse still, he knew it would last for the whole day. Curse this ethereal form bullshit, making him too comfortable outside his body. His room was dark, curtains closed. He was never fond of sunlight, even though Verona was knee-deep in winter by now. Groaning like an old man, James rose from the bed and cleaned himself up in the bathroom. It didn't take long. Soon enough, he was in a plaid shirt and black trousers, heading downstairs for breakfast.

In the dining room, he only saw the serious visage of his father Andrew, chewing on a grilled cheese sandwich in front of his personal tablet. A Samsung tablet, because 'patriotism'. The fifty-something year old man looked just as tired as he was, but more so irritated. Must be a bad morning already. In a probably futile attempt to lighten the mood, James greeted him. "Good morning. Where's [i]eomma[/i]?"

"Early bird shift at the clinic," he muttered, intensely focused with whatever was on the screen. "Mom made you some fried rice before leaving." Nodding, he went over to the stove and placed the rest of the rice in a plate, proceeding to sit across from his father. Not much of a reaction from this, either. What's with this man? Not everyday he was this cold. Usually he'd strike up a conversation or at the very least complain out loud. Something must have made him like this and James was bent on knowing why, for some reason.

"Something...troubling you, [i]appa[/i]?" he asked in a hesitant tone. In response, Mr. Yoon handed him the tablet. On the screen was a chat with Chad, his father's assistant and co-owner of the Forever Young Grocers on Main Street, him being the owner. Chad had sent him five images, depicting the store's windows shattered into pieces. Not only their store, but other businesses as well. Every single window in Main Street had shattered, seemingly at once. So much broken glass on the street, that was at least 4.9 millennia of bad luck. No wonder his dad was so pissed.

"What in the world...? W-When did this happen? What caused this?" James asked again. 

"Everyone's been asking the same questions, apparently and no one has an answer yet." His father took back his tablet and rose from the dining table. "Right now, though, we don't need answers. We need to clean that shit up. Hurry up and finish your breakfast, we're going to do just that."

"Yes, sir."
[hr]So much things to sweep up. James was now in front of his father's grocery store Main Street, broom in hand. He had just finished tidying up the broken glass that was his family's business and now wanted to help others as well, but man, was his body not making things easy. James was a man at peak physical condition and yet something as trivial as sweeping made his muscles ache. He needed extra energy. And he knew exactly where to get some.

Still with a broom, James struggled to walk towards Simone's and get himself some damn coffee. Unfortunately for him, so did dozens of other people. There was a massive queue of patrons and he inwardly cursed. So far, very few was going his way (or anyone's way if the faces on the people in line told anything) this morning. A quarter of an hour was spent line before James had both a broom and a plastic cup of iced Thai coffee at his disposal, his favorite. Why not a warm cup of Joe in this chilly morning? Because he did not want to burn his tongue, that's why. James has little tolerance for that kind of pain.

Heading back towards the store while sipping on the coffee, he passed by plenty of people, a lot of his fellow high school students among them. Most of them looked more cheerful than he was, which wasn't saying much when the bar was so low. James was confident that Main Street had never seen this many grumpy people here at once. He walked past a short-ish girl with pretty tattoos aplenty before his bad situation took a turn for the even worse. He suddenly sneezed.

Come on, you might say. That wasn't so bad.

Well, that sneeze also ejected his soul from his body. James's incorporeal form could only watch helplessly as his body (and the half-empty coffee in his hands!) fell back onto the pavement, limp without a spirit holding it up. In this ethereal plane, James was stuck to floating and seeing the world is subtle slow motion, every sound from the real world muted and echoing like in water. The experience was usually exhilarating; there was a feeling of freedom it. But alas, such feels were drowned out by rampant frustration evolving into seething anger. Not even his mild-mannered psyche could stop him from shouting one word at the top of his ghosty lungs.

"FUCK!"     

Thankfully, no one in the physical world could hear anything he said...or could they? What he just screamed out seemed plenty loud.