Justice had been sitting at the table next to Seth's, minding his own business for once, shoveling in his eggs, hash browns and bacon. His face bore the fading remnants of his fight with Regan: a black eye and bruising all down one side of his face. That had been two days ago. He felt like he'd given out as good as he'd gotten, so he was pleased. Fighting was always a way to break the monotony.
Harassing other guests was another way, he'd found. He had idly turned his head in Seth's direction just in time to see him deliberately throw his coffee mug to the floor, and the faintest of snide smiles edged Justice's lips. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, his tone antagonistic. "You think these folks don't have nothin' better to do than clean up after you?"
Justice, of course, would've had no qualms about making a mess like that himself, but it was fun to play devil's advocate.