With his partner's coercion as a backdrop, Takasugi sifts through broken glass and spilled sundries. There aren't many containers in tact, but he salvages what he can. A few pristine bottles, and several cracked, are placed back on the shelf with no effort spared for orderliness.

He does the same with another pile of wasted wares, before turning to the owner once more. "Do you have anything to clean bloodstains?" The wood beneath their feet is covered in it, red soaking into the cracks and spreading in vein-like paths from the casualties.

One of which seems to have been spared. The gang's leader nods desperately to Moira's proposition, holding up his trembling arm. "I'll stay away from here. I'll leave the city!" There's hardly any need for that, but... whatever.

Desperate begging makes an idiot of everyone.