A familiar face -- minus the cross that usually hangs across his back -- drops into a seat just two tables down, looking exhausted and annoyed. There's something wrong with the plants here, he's decided. The fight's over. Why do they keep bringing people here? It doesn't make any sense! Octovern is the last place he wants to be right now, with the local feds and Earth forces both looking for any of Vash the Stampede's cohort. At least his face isn't the one they're looking for, but that'll only buy him soo much leeway, given how many duplicates of people are wandering around.

He digs in his pocket for cash, but only manages to scrounge up a handful of coins. Is it enough for a cup of coffee? Maybe. Probably not. Goddammit.