tampered | Log; complete

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Wheels rattled over the gravel as a blond man dressed in his best cargo shorts, a plain white t-shirt, and a colorful crab shack inspired open button down came riding through the square. He had procured a skateboard for inner city travel, the best way to go in Scholar's opinion. As promised he was dressed to the nines; his shoes were closed toe black trainers. All in all he felt he matched Saya's ensemble.

The battered board clicked to a stop, tail end scraping.

"Sister mine," he greeted her with a bright and cheerful smile.

Where did he get a skateboard?

He looked remarkably good. And the fact that she could say that when the only thing he had done that was special was wear a shirt and shoes was saying a lot. What had he done to her? The aggravation made her grit her teeth.

"Hullo," she said placidly, but with a hint of warning. "Why are you so tall?" she remarked blandly.

The same way he got a surfboard. No harm in breaking the law in a largely lawless city right? And besides, he had liberated both objects from disuse! Saya was lucky Scholar hadn't brought both out.

"I've always been a tall bloke," said the blond as he hopped off his board, coming down in height by only a couple inches. He was 6'1" on flat ground anyway. Scholar grinned, aware of her aggravation and minding none of it. "Where to, Saya me luv? 'avin' anything special," Scholar asked while fishing for the cigarettes in his pocket.

Saya watched, her black eyes following his movements.

"You are going to rot your lungs," she muttered as he lit up, and turned towards Pandora's. "I promised you steak, didn't I? Nice and juicy. With lots of blood. You need that."

She looked up at him, squinting, "If your stomach is better from all the puffer."

"You said the magic word," he countered with that signature smile. The word was steak and with it blood, Saya had to know as much. Scholar puffed on the cancer stick in one hand, the board tucked under his other arm. "Pandora's issit," he asked then laughed, "aw c'mon 'eart, you know I've had worse."

The blond man winked. Fugu wasn't the worst he'd consumed. There was that one time he'd mistakenly chomped on a some garbage along the coast of San Diego; garbage that included a full set of birth control pills.

The birth control pills had made him cry for a week before Saya convinced him to burn out the hormone from his body. By convince, what she meant was she had scared him into doing it, but the end result was the same.

"Yes, you do have a stomach on you." She muttered. "It's far too bad my own constitution doesn't allow me such liberties."

Truth was, if she wanted to, she could eat anything that had blood; it was just a matter of cocooning it first. Venom didn't bother her at all.

She led him to Pandora's and asked for a private table for two. No doubt, the hostess thought it was a date.

But at least he managed to keep the combination of ice cream, fortune cookies, eclair, and pickles down for the duration of his cycle. Saya would have made him weep only harder had he let himself go over the leather sofa.

"Aw you wouldn't shovel up anyway," Scholar gave her a light nudge to the side, "you've got manners about you. Fork on the left, knife on the right, take modest we li'l bites." He gestured 'wee' with a pinch of his fingers then sucked down the rest of his cigarette to the filter as they approached the restaurant. He tossed the butt end right at the entrance, grounding it out with his toe. Safety first.

"Thanks, luv," the blond winked at the hostess before following her to their private table. Were it a date Saya must have been a cougar out to gouge the beach bum of his virility.

Saya sat and ordered quickly, as was her usual style. "Biggest steak you have, as rare as you can make it for the boy, I'll have a martini, dry, onion." She turned back to her brother.

He was grinning at her like an idiot. As usual. That was how he always looked at her, like she was the prettiest thing he had ever seen. "Have you slept with Miss Salvatore yet?" she asked, crossing her legs under the table, no menace intended, her voice flat and monotone once more.

"I'll 'ave a beer, Guinness if you've got it," he nodded to the waiter, adding to the order of rarest steak and martinis. Funny combination, but Saya was picking up the check... right?

That question took Scholar by surprise, turning his bright and cheerful look into one of confusion. Sleep with Lupe? Now, she was pretty, as pretty as Faye Valentine in a bikini, as handsome as that Elle Driver sporting the one eye, but sleep with her so soon? Salvatore would have none of it! Or so he presumed. Scholar waggled his finger.

"I slept on 'er couch, not in 'er 'ammock. Don't you think better of me, sister?"

"Of course," Saya muttered.

He loved the pretty girls. He liked talking to them and flirting with them, but she liked to think he had reserved the majority of his heart for the sea.

"I'm sorry. Does she have too much of a pulse for you?" Saya said calmly. In her head she screamed at herself, as she usually did when she spoke to him. Cruel, it accused, even while another part of her said, Necessary.

"Shot to the heart and you're to blame, Saya," said Scholar with a cool look to his sister. He understood it as her way of just being... her! The older sibling didn't mind. He knew how she truly felt, that were he ever in a jam she would be the first in line coming to his aid.

"I think the lovely lass might know too much," he nodded as their drinks arrived. He took the Guinness by the bottle, sipping from the mouth rather than pouring it into the frosty glass.

"You know better then to quote bad Bon Jovi at me, brother mine." She said, snatching the Guinness from his hand and pouring it into the glass. "Drink like a person, not like an idiot."

She would be the first person; the only person, if need be, to save him. Of course. There was no other option.

She settled back and sipped her martini. "Should I take care of it?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"You'd be the only one to catch the reference," he returned a grin.

In his few days in the City proper only Saya, Lupe, and that Republican appeared to be from their world, their time. Bon Jovi was an icon for their generation, someone any adult should know. He blinked when all he lifted to his lips was air. Civilized behavior was overrated, honestly, but he watched her pour the black stuff into the glass anyway, then sipped from the foamy head so as to briefly obtain a mustache.

"No," Scholar knew what she meant and just as casually shook his head, "I bribed Lupe by fixing 'er coffee machine and getting the lass a new clock." He smiled, quite proud of that coverup.

In truth, a good deal of the city was from something similar to "their world". But Socrates hadn't been in the city long enough to know that; and Saya watched after him because he had done the same for her, so many times over.

"Not necessarily, but that's a good observation," she said, smiling softly now. A true smile, not a predator smile.

"You fixed her coffee machine?" Saya asked, shaking her head. "Poor girl. I'm surprised it hasn't tried to kill her by now." The truth was that she had taught Socrates most of what he knew about mechanics, but in terms of anything that ran with a current, he was helpless.

"If she opens her mouth, I'll handle it," she said, taking another sip. She was secretly proud of him too.

"Aw it'd pull that shit if I was in 'er flat, but I moved off the couch and now take me kips on a piece of driftwood at the beach," Socrates said proudly. "Lupe's a dear bird, she won't say a word unless I slot 'er off, and I won't. Promise," he winked. Then after a thought...

Scholar rolled his board under the table, to nudge Saya's ankle. "Guess what else I did."

The board was poking her under the table. She snapped her foot back and slammed it against his ankle, but raised an eyebrow at him over the table.

When he said something like that, it usually means something vaguely illegal.

"Does it involve something I will undoubtedly have to bail you out of jail for?"

"Ow," Socrates grunted when the board bumped his sockless ankle. He'd have to switch over to Doc Martens come winter, high tops to prevent that from happening again.

"No, there's no prison 'ere. Not a slammer that works anyway," he grinned then leaned forward so the words he spoke were for Saya's ears only. "You know that Attorney at Republican Law? Turns out 'is office boy's an 'erbologist," those blond brows waggled. "I bummed off me last seedlings to him. I'll bet me mate's got the bushes up by Monday."

He was talking about Mr. Brocklehurst's boyfriend. Her thoughts moved, and she opened her mouth in a slow, disbelieving but rather unsurprised expression. "You're growing pot?" she said, less of a question and more of a statement. "You know that your Republican Attorney at law is close to a man who, at current point, is looking like he will run the city within a matter of weeks?."

She liked Mr. Brocklehurst; he was smart, a gentleman, and remarkably well turned out. "Just don't get caught, oh beloved brother of mine." she said dryly. Not like it would matter. She had the Warden and his second in command in her pocket.

"Yeh isn't it fuckin' ace," he practically giggled over the idea.

Socrates imagined young Neville would have four full grown plants with his herbology and magic. Despite his seemingly aloof and off beat nature Scholar did his research, he had to in order to ensure the safety of his saplings. He knew this Longbottom fellow was an adept at... plant growing, or whatever one called a mage proficient in the workings of plant life. That Styles fellow seemed like a potential obstacle, but as long as he didn't smoke in the office right? No one said anything about the possibility of the young mage coming to work high.

"Aw c'mon you know all Republicans 'ave some dirty laundry to wash. What's a li'l grass going to do?"

Saya resisted the urge to reach over and cuff him.

Resisted it some more.

"You don't ever change," she said, almost fondly. "If you deal with mages, you deal with the consequences. I won't help you if you get in a bind." That, of course, was a lie. She wouldn't just help him, she would cocoon the little worm and toss him into the bottom of the drowning pool. Socrates would know it was a lie; he knew that she loved him.

"Mr. Zeeman accepted you as a teacher, I hear. Don't go near his wife," she advised.

"S'good product too, picked it up in India," he nodded proudly over his seedly findings. Neville didn't seem like he knew what the plants were either. The experience would benefit the young man, Scholar thought. Everyone had to face that gateway at some point in their lives anyway.

Oh he knew Saya was lying. It was a particular type of lie too, the kind meant to spur him to action or another way of saying 'watch your six, idiot'. He appreciated the sentiment regardless. Socrates could take care of himself too, she knew that. Besides, the mages from where they came could be pretentious little cunts. Neville seemed like a genuinely nice sort of boy, the better to proclaim innocence if caught.

"Ace, Saya! Now that's good news," Scholar grinned before taking another sip of his beer. "You know I'll do me best teaching the grommets 'ow to paddle. And you worry yourself not," he shook his head, "I won't even bat an eye at 'is lovey's arse."

She sipped again. "Did you see the twins, then?"

Neither of them liked the twins, not really. Socrates thought they were creepy, and she thought they were overdone. But they were family. Or something akin to that. Little Indian twats with blue eyes and a lack of personal space.

She thought of Anita Zeeman and shook her head. "That's not what I meant, Socrates. I mean that she may decide to try and shoot you in a way to make me angry. She was not favorable to what I did to her husband the other night. Despite the fact that I did not actually touch either of them."

"I didn't go inland," he shook his head several times, though Scholar wasn't one to admit he was afraid of the twins. They merely freaked out his already freakish sensibilities. Now that was saying something. He was rather fond of Gleek though and regret being unable to say hello to the little long-bodied rodent.

"Oh," Socrates sounded upon understanding what Saya really meant by that remark. It was his turn to quirk a blond brow. Shoot him to get to her? He could really care less about that prospect, his own body capable of regenerating from bullets. Hell he knew aquatics who had recovered from being shred by a fucking propeller. But should she hurt his sister, well that was a different story.

"I'll keep that in mind, luv," he nodded once, sounding quite confident and cool, for only that brief moment. "Where's me steak," whined the blond.

At that moment the waitress came by with a steak that had obviously touched the pan for only a moment before being taken off. She set it in front of Socrates, and Saya pulled the steak back for a moment, knowing that she would lose his attention the moment she gave it to him.

"Be smart about this, Socrates. She can't hurt you, but she can notice that you heal faster than she can shoot. She's a filthy mutt, and I for one don't like the idea of either of them near you." Saya could feel the venom building in her mouth in response; it was almost Pavlovian.

She sat back slightly, still holding the plate.

Beautiful glorious rare steak. He could smell the blood from his seat, his mouth already watering from the scent. Scholar was fortunate to have been born with dark brown eyes, the better to mask that subtle shift in color when his hunger was aroused. He had not been born with the characteristic aggression and attitude of the average shark, despite his birth in a pool of salties. Socrates had nothing against the wolf kind.

"Yeh yeh, I know the drill, Saya me luv," said the blond while bobbing his head to the motion of the plate. In truth he rather thought Richard a simple likable bloke, and had little opinion of his wife since he'd never met her. "Don't worry your lovely 'ead, you know your Socrates can take care of 'imself," he added with a smile.

His birth name had significance.

The shift was subtle, but Saya watched it, saw the change, the sudden dilation, the pooling blackness. No one else would catch it; but she did, just like he knew the pattern of pores that were slightly enlarged on her face.

She set the steak down in front of him. "Try to chew this time," she said, knowing he had heard her, and knew that he was taking it seriously. Of course he could take care of himself - she wouldn't let him out of her sight otherwise.

He knew he could be trusted (to an extent) and knew she trusted him to know his own limits. It worked both ways, though the blond would never declare that to the brunette's face!

"Thank you," Scholar said to Saya, his tone soaked with a near weeping gratitude as he proceeded to cut his steak with the fork alone. She never said anything about proper utensil usage after all.

One day, she thought, he would have to watch her eat.

Once he had cut through the steak and consumed it, and finished it, Saya took a long sip and sat up straight, leaving a scattering of coins on the table. He looked sated, at least temporarily.

"Are you full now, sweet child of mine?"

And grow jealous of the meat consumption? Perhaps their diet combined would yield a better use of the meal itself; no bit gone to waste. He actually took the time to pat his mouth free of blood and beef residue with the cloth napkin. Scholar folded the thing and set it under his plate like a polite... 'gentleman'. He quickly washed down the rest of his mannerisms with one last gulp of Guinness.

"Ahhh... hit the spot, that," he nodded, a smile on his face that suggested he was slipping into a food coma. "No no no, if I can't quote Bon Jovi you're not quoting Axl Rose," Scholar grinned, pointing at Saya. "Thank you, sister mine."

She smiled back; a real smile, honest, a fifteen year old who had just met her cool, friendly, cute older brother from Australia who was going to take care of her smile and said, "Good."

"Don't be stupid and forget to eat," she said, standing up, recognizing the food coma that was engulfing him. They only had minutes now before he would pass out snoozing, and no car. "I mean it. If you need food, come to town."

She was surprised that he was holding a solid job; of course he had done that while she was finishing high school, so he could support them both, but it was such a rare thing. "Do you want me to walk you home, Socrates?"

"Whu'," he asked in a thicker Australian accent do to comatose state. Scholar shook his head, bringing himself back to a higher state of cognitive being. "Aw I wouldn't forget that, Saya," he offered a grin then kicked the tip of his board to prop it upright. "I've got me a set of wheels," he nodded, "'ow about I roll you home?"

Saya stared at the wheels and rolled her eyes. "Of course not," she muttered. "This suit is a Gabbana original, I'm not getting it torn with the potential of falling off."

She remembered when he first found her during those critical two weeks when her human state hadn't quite died yet, how he had taught her how to skateboard. She would never fall off.

She watched his eyes, to see if she had hurt him, seeking that emotional response, like she always did. She doubted it would even register.

"All right then," he shrugged once and grinned, oblivious to even the possibility of any intent to hurt him. Scholar got to his feet, looking as if he'd roll out of Pandora's on the board, but a few stares from the staff got a waggle of fingers from the blond. He was only kidding about skating out of the establishment. Instead, he kicked the board once more to catch it in his arm. He offered his other to Saya.

"Let me walk you out, Miss," he smiled.

Saya felt warmth and suppressed it quickly, but recognized his attempt. She loved it when he did that; when he recognized her, even as much as she hated when he tried too hard or touched her.

She reached out and looped her hand around his arm, the conflicting emotions warring it out in her head, but one clearly winning. "Thank you, Socrates," she said waiting for the emotions to die away, not really wanting them to.

She could wait forever.

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