The Grifted [Open]

The man walked through the crowds of the Wall Market. Quiet stood out; he was taller than the average person, and the combination of his mako-electric-hued blue eyes, his all-encompassing pale overcoat, the scar across his face, and the sword slung over his shoulder added to his presence. Still, he had mastered the art of blending in, adapting one's posture and rhythm of movement to the surrounding sea of people, as if he had been walking here his whole life. He might get spotted by one looking for him, but otherwise he would go unseen, a molecule of water in the deep and vast ocean. 

In his free left hand, the psuedo-SOLDIER chowed down on a artificially-flavoured protein bar nabbed from a nearby street vendor. It was unlikely the shopkeeper would notice that it had even gone missing, and maybe next time, Quiet would be able to pay. He hadn't been able to make much money recently; he didn't have anyone to back him up for any Shin-Ra heists, and solo would be something of a death trap. So he'd stayed in the shadows, picking off the odd trooper here and there. He was getting pretty tired of working alone. 

A pink-haired blur smacked bang into the centre of Quiet. Perhaps he'd been too inconspicuous. The tall warrior coughed up the previous bite of his protein bar, spitting to his left. "Hey, kid, watchit-"

Some sort of animal instinct took over. Quiet grabbed hold of Halwen and pushed him to the side; Zef's inky Blind slammed straight into Quiet's chest, the darkness quickly speeding up his chest and over his face, obscuring his vision and those electric-blue SOLDIER eyes. 

Why... the f***... did I do that?

Quiet growled, deep and throaty, now gripping the Hyperion Edge in both hands. It was not the first time he had fought without vision, and his other senses weren't horrible. He might be at a disadvantage, but by the Planet would the bastard pay for ruining his lunch.