Chapter Text
Caesar and Joseph were leaning up against a cold brick wall together in silence, as both performed their own pre-run rituals. It was dark, cold, and the fog that hung just below the street lamps made the world seem a little softer around the edges. He heard Caesar exhale slowly beside him, and he watched as the smoke that flowered lazily from his lips mixed with the dense mist. Caesar had taken up smoking pretty early in their partnership, claiming it “calmed his nerves”, and from the start Joseph had objected, retorting most often with a muttered, “gets on my nerves”, which was consistently met with a look of exasperation from his blond counterpart.
Joseph stared across the sparsely lit street into the fog, trying to center his breathing. He counted through the inhales and exhales in his head, though the fog was making it hard to take full breaths; the air so heavy with humidity Joseph felt that he might as well be taking drags of Caesar’s cigarette. He turned to watch his partner. He always closed his eyes while he smoked, and while Joseph pondered what Caesar was thinking about, he found himself unconsciously matching his breathing to the brightening and dimming embers at the end of the cigarette as Caesar puffed through it. With the help of the fog, he imagined the smoke in his mouth and in his throat, its tendrils spiraling down to his lungs, warming his core, which he found oddly comforting, especially on a night like this. Maybe I could take up to smoking too, he thought. He sighed, pushing all the imagined smoke out of his body and his thoughts.
Joseph had always worked best under pressure, but that never stopped the ball of anxiety that always settled in his abdomen from forming while both of them waited for the go ahead from someone with a better view to give them the all clear for the run. He guessed Caesar must feel it too, at least to some degree, or their whole pre-run meditation wouldn’t really be warranted. Not that he could ever really be sure.
Caesar was a private man, and for better or worse, put a lot of effort into concealing whatever emotions he might be feeling during jobs. Joseph admired his professionalism, and at times wished he could have that impersonality with their runs too. It indicated reliability, which was a highly sought after commodity in this line of work. However, it also put him on edge that he could never quite read his partner. He’d picked up little tells here and there, sure, but it was exhausting to have to read so deeply into such a guarded persons every move, and left a lot communication wise to be desired between them.
Caesar took one last lingering drag from his cigarette before dropping it to the ground to put it out with the heel of his shoe. Joseph noticed how fast Caesar had burned through his treasured cigarette. He must be nervous too, Joseph thought, This run is way more intense than anything else we’ve been assigned yet.
His thoughts were interrupted by a short buzz in his pocket. He took out the phone, the bright light of the screen illuminated by a notification cutting through the haze of the chilly night.
It’s time.
He could see Caesar had gotten the message too, and for the first time since arriving, their eyes met, and the silence was broken.
“Alright Joestar, let’s work.” Caesar mused.
Joseph’s stomach fluttered with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.
“Let’s do it.” He replied.
Caesar handed Joseph his half finished pack of American Spirits, which Joseph took and tucked away within the bag at his hip. The blond adjusted his suit jacket; a smooth grey, with a white undershirt and teal tie that brought out his eyes, Joseph noticed. He had his blond hair brushed back, and though it was obvious much effort had been put into the styling, the natural wave of his hair came through past the crown of his head. He had covered up his birthmarks- he always did for jobs- as the uniqueness of them, though charming, were too easily identifiable.
“Does my breath smell like smoke?” Caesar asked, leaning just a little too close for Joseph’s comfort, and blowing lightly on his face. “Yeah Casanova, it does. I don’t know what you were expecting.” Joseph sneered, digging around in his bag for a moment before producing breath mints from the bowels of the leather satchel. “What else you got in that bag, Mary Poppins?” Caesar teased, catching the box of mints Joseph had tossed in his direction. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Joseph replied dryly.
Joseph took out a mask; the mouth area covered by a stiff fabric which connected to a screen that covered his eyes. He snapped it into position on his face, and blinked a few times, making sure the display was working properly. As he blinked, two small LED eyes came to life on screen, mirroring the movements of Joseph’s eyes within the visor on the outside. Joseph had made the mask himself, trying to make the outward expressions on the screen resemble an ASCII emoticon. It was garish, sure, but Joseph thought it was clever and endearing. Caesar thought it was sort of obnoxious, and insisted the small amount of light the visor gave off as it mimicked Joseph’s expressions was going to get them both caught one day.
Suddenly, several small surveillance feeds popped into Josephs view. He glanced around the interior of the mask, trying to orient himself with the live feeds in front of him. “Cisco was right,” Joseph stated. “I can see the bouncers switching shifts. Now is your time to shine, Caesarino.” Joseph fully anticipated the eye roll from Caesar following the nickname.
“It’s not a bouncer, dumb ass, it’s a cocktail party. Bouncers work for clubs and bars, which I am sure you’re more than familiar with, ” Caesar corrected. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Joseph asked, pretending to be hurt.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Caesar retorted, and though he was facing away from him, Joseph swore he could feel the smirk on his partner’s face as he sauntered towards the front of the building.