tampered | Log; complete

Log; complete

When; September 1st, evening
Rating; PG
Characters; Saya

bigmamasboy
Summary; Saya invited her little brother out for dinner; hilarity ensues
Log;

It was love.

It was really love, not fake in any sense of her other emotions. What she felt for anybody else was like a grain of sand on a vast, ancient beach.

She hated thinking in poetry. It made her irritated, like her brother did, even as she loved him with all the ability her heart had. Which, apparently, she thought as she waited at the square in a lovely red pinstripe ladies suit coat with a matching hat and a black silk tie, was a lot. She crossed her arms, waiting, watching.

Children ran by her, she didn't pay attention. Someone stared. Unsurprising. It wasn't hard to wait.

Waiting was the easy part.

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"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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Log; complete

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