[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/s0EwNmk.png[/img][/center]
[center][color=#DAA520][b][u]Los Angeles - Outside Café Belle Vie[/u][/b][/color][/center]
[center][@Count Cuddles][@Prosaic][/center]

It would eventually reach its end, with a pair of small arms wrapping their way around Nello's white-cloaked neck. Feeling the soft, yet supernaturally resistant fabric against her, Sara, the young fan, tightened the embrace she had around the boy considered a hero. Yes, it was an interesting word, to say the least. Hero, vigilante, nuisance, each a description to identify those who picked up arms against injustice. A shield between those who would harm, and those who would flee. The scene displayed all around Nello as the girl ran towards her mother played out within the depths of his mind, a repeated thought which would eventually lower itself into a sad reality. He was quite aware of how media would spin this. They would point towards that girl, Sara, and consider Midnight, her hero, a bad influence. One day, she would make a stupid decision, and it would be his fault. 

For a brief moment, Nello allowed his eyes to lid, closing them as a gentle, inaudible sigh escaped his lips. This had been quite the spectacular event, and the unmoving frame of a lizard creature remained motionless on the ground. Midnight had not harmed him, in any permanent fashion. He would awaken, and he would know that metal bars separated him from freedom. [color=#DAA520][i]"Hope it's not over, yet! Come on, let's find another asshole to beat up! Come on!"[/i][/color] Came Nocturne's voice, ripping Nello back to the agenda at hand. Currently, it came in the form of a porcelain-wearing Frenchman. 

[color=#DAA520][b]"Later,"[/b][/color] the boy offered with a simple statement, ascending to his feet, a gentle clang of his dark armor dripping out from where it was hidden, beneath that impossibly white cloak. [color=#DAA520][b]"Fault Line is dealing with another issue,"[/b][/color] Midnight commented, answering this unknown vigilante's question with a vague response. He could not deny that the accent was quite entertaining. [color=#DAA520][b]"And, what do they call you?"[/b][/color] The boy began, as he turned to walk, simply assuming that Keandre would follow. Dramatically swaying in motion with Nello's movements, that cloak offered a soft sound of its own. Fabric riding against an incoming breeze. [color=#DAA520][b]"I hear sirens, we better get moving."[/b][/color]