Around them, the town is dead and silent as usual. Or at least, to the unsuspecting eye it would appear so. Down darkened alleys and within the walls of condemned buildings, residents of this hellish place engage in quiet rituals and drug abuse. Why would anyone live here? No one knows. Half the time, residents don't know how they got here. And, for some bizarre reason, most don't think they can leave.

Here and there a random straggler or one of the local gangs might peep from the alleys to survey the streets, reminding the boys to always keep their guard up. Emory's hands burrow deeper into his pockets and he tucks his chin into his collar. His eyes are fixed ahead of him but his body language suggests awareness and precision.

Then out of nowhere he reaches into Nyx's pocket again, snatching the music player and bolting from the scene as quickly as possible.

It takes Nyx a moment to process what just went down, but when he finally realizes he's just been pickpocketed he immediately trails the boy, thundering after him like the 6'3" beast he is.

"GIVE THAT BACK YA WEASEL!!!"

The boy doesn't even so much as turn to throw a glance over his shoulder, running down the nearest alley and scrambling up a side-scaffold hugging a building. He's fast, and agile. Once he reaches the top of the scaffold he doesn't even hesitate to leap from it across the alley to the roof of a lower building, sprinting off almost the moment he lands.

Despite being incredibly athletic, Nyx can't compete in neither agility nor speed. Instead, he chooses to compete in the smarts department–though some of his comrades might argue he is more lacking in this than all others.

If he can track the kid from the ground, he might be able to head him off and get him cornered instead of leaping over buildings and climbing ladders that likely won't support his muscle mass.

Of course, despite knowing nearly every inch of this godforsaken place, trailing the kid proves to be much more difficult than Nyx anticipated in his mind. That scrawny little punk is the perfect size and darkness to blend into the shadows and crumbling architecture. Not only that, but he is light and silent on his feet–even at high speeds. Nyx begins to struggle, searching almost frantically. It's not so much the music player, but the kid, that he's after.

Though most advise against such things, he considers calling the name the boy provided to him. Emory clearly has sensitive hearing, no doubt he would recognize his name being hollered. However, perhaps that would only encourage him to run further. He is such a skittish thing.

As if in some sort of unusual dance, Nyx paces before a condemned convenience store, scouting for any possible indication that the boy has been there. His steps grow slower and more methodic, finally petering out in exhaustion as he sits on the sidewalk curb in defeat. He is sweating from the exertion that comes with pursuing at high speeds, making him wonder if he needs to increase the intensity of his workouts to improve stamina. But the more he thinks about this, the more he realizes he has had a bit more trouble with endurance since the boy bit him, and thus he concludes it must be an effect of the feral kid's venom.

"Gave up, huh? Loser." Accompanying this scoffing remark is a swift kick administered to Nyx's spine, doubling him over and robbing him of oxygen.

Emory stands beside Nyx, a mocking expression on his pale face. Nyx glares at him. "Give it back."

"Give what back?" The innocence in his words is almost convincing. He gives Nyx a hard shove, "Scoot your ass over."

"There's literally an entire street to sit on."

"Yeah but I want this spot."

"Brat," Nyx mutters with a huff, moving over to allow more space between them. The boy sits, staring at Nyx the entire time through those wide, curious brown eyes. He pulls the music player from his pocket, holding it away from Nyx with his right hand. "Gimme the noise thingies."

"They're called earbuds. And no, you may not have them."

Evidently this is not the response he wants, and the boy moves into an attack position. Nyx is quick to counter him, drawing a knife from his belt. At the sight of the blade the boy tackles Nyx to the ground, disarming the taller lad and aiming the weapon at Nyx's throat.

"Okay so it seems we got off on the wrong foot–"

The boy snarls, "I'll give you a wrong foot."

"I like my feet the way they are–"

"NO PRETTY FEET FOR YOU! You pulled a knife on me!"

Nyx is silent for a moment, his expression almost unreadable.

"Hmph. That's what I thought. You owe me now," snorts Emory, still sitting on top of his companion.

Nyx grimaces, "Sir. You stole my music player–"

"SO YOU PULL A KNIFE ON ME?! IS IT REALLY THAT PERSONAL?"

"I take music pretty seriously. About as seriously as you take a knife pull, in fact. And do I need to remind you that you attacked me before I pulled that knife? It was self defense."

The boy ignores him.

"Can I get up now?"

Emory hisses, "NO. YOU STAY DOWN UNTIL I SAY YOU CAN GET BACK UP."

"Okay...please let me keep my feet though."

"I might sell them on the black market," Emory considers sinisterly, "Might give em to the cannibals."

At this, Nyx huffs. "Look. I'm sorry for pulling out my knife, man. Please just let me get up."

By now, Nyx is lying on his back on the filthy pavement, with the feral boy crouched on his torso like a feral sort of gargoyle.

Emory glares in response to Nyx's pleas and shakes his head, "Absolutely not."

Nyx shuts his eyes, regretting every choice he has made leading up to this moment. "Please."

Emory points the knife at his victim's throat again, scowling. "Please doesn't mean a thing anymore."

"Okay, okay! No more please... I'll just–become Floor Boy." He squirms a bit, hoping to sneak out from under the scrawny gremlin.

"Yeah. Become one with the earth and surrender yourself to the scum from which you were formed."

"That's stretching it a bit. See, I came from dust, little bit more noble than scum..."

"Nope I'm pretty sure you were formed from scum. All Wits are. If you were formed from dust, you wouldn't pull a knife on me."

"You don't know that, man."

"Yes I do," Emory snarls again. "I know everything."

Nyx sighs. "Also the ground's cold."

"Good!" A bitter laugh escapes the boy. "I want you to suffer."

"C'mon...when we first met you almost robbed me of my ability to use my right arm. I think I've suffered enough."

Glare.

"If you let me up I'll buy you chicken nuggets," Nyx says, attempting a bribe.

Emory considers it for a fraction of a second before shaking his head no and curling up on top of poor Nyx.

"You're a cat bed now. Human scum."

"BOY WHAT THE ACTUAL–"

Emory slaps him, "Shut up dirt"

"Ow, dude. This...cat bed has pain receptors. Please be gentle."

"Cat beds aren't supposed to speak," Emory muses, eyes closed. "Must be haunted."

Nyx reaches into the boy's jacket and pulls out the music player, hoping to confiscate it for good, only to have it swatted out of his hand, bouncing across the pavement into some oily leaf litter.

It's probably not gonna work very well now, if at all.

"I knew it. This thing is possessed by an evil spirit," Emory says with a frown. "Dang it. My cat bed needs a lobotomy and an exorcism!"

Nyx looks alarmed at this, "Wait hold up now what–I'm allergic to both those things..."

"Evil spirit! Where's the holy water when ya need it?!"

"I'm sorry for pulling out the knife, please just get off and let me get up. There are bugs crawling into my hair."

A dastardly little smirk lights up Emory's face at this. "I hope they bite."

"Nooooo," Nyx groans.

"Yeahhh I hope they nibble your precious toes."

"Not my toes–"

"You'll have swiss cheese toes."

"Ugh. What will it take to get you off of me?!"

"Nothing." And the boy pretends to hug his victim.

Slowly, Nyx attempts to give the boy's head a pat; to his surprise the boy closes his eyes as if enjoying it.

Nah. That was too much. Nyx blinks, completely perturbed. What the hell is it with this kid? Why can't he just be...normal about things?

"Uh. Cool. Do you do this with every stranger?"

"Nope. Also why are you touching me cuz that's kinda weird."

"You're uh. Hugging me. I thought that's how people responded to hugs? Also you're ON TOP OF ME."

In spite of these valid accusations, the boy is incredulous. "You're the cat bed and cat beds aren't supposed to make noise."

"But you're not even a fricking cat–"

"Also you smell like a taco shop."

"Better than smelling like a wet leaf," Nyx snaps.

"I do not smell like wet leaves, thank you very much, Mister Body Odor."

"If you let me up I'll take a shower..."

Emory slaps Nyx again, "YOU MUST BE SILENT, CAT BED! When the rain comes you will be cleansed."

"I'll get muddy though."

As if he isn't already.

Emory rolls his eyes. "I could just kill you now and you'd never have to worry about anything ever again."

"Can you stop hugging me at least. This is really weird."

"No." The boy smiles wickedly before administering a squeeze.

"I dislike this unsolicited touching and squeezing. Get off me."

Emory ignores him, "What else you got in those pockets?" Finally releasing Nyx from the hugging at least, he proceeds to dig through the lad's jacket like a greedy raccoon.

Nyx, who normally would have the strength to free himself of a situation like this–especially since the offender is a short, scrawny punk–finds he is too exhausted to fight back for the time being and resorts instead to yelling. "I'M GETTING ROBBED SOMEONE PLEASE HELP!"

Of course in this town, thievery is a normal occurrence. In fact, it's expected. No one cares, and the law enforcement that does exist is pretty much disregarded altogether. Unless of course the issue in question revolves around any sort of fae, a fact which gives Nyx the slightest hope for assistance. If not assistance, at least it will show the boy that his actions do in fact have consequences, and lethal ones at that.

At Nyx's shouting, Emory sits up and shoves the sole of his food into the poor lad's mouth.

"Shut up dummy, I'm not robbing you. I just wanna see what else you're carrying."

Nyx squirms in agony, his jaw aching in protest at the filthy rubber sneaker sole lodged between his teeth. As he suffers, the gremlin pinning him down continues to rummage through his pockets. He has just happened upon a pack of chewing putty and is sniffing the thin cardboard package.

"Yo what's this?" He asks, a note of excitement in his voice. Taking a bite of the box, he chews for a bit before spitting it right in Nyx's face. "THAT'S NASTY!"

Poor Nyx can't respond, still silenced by the boy's shoe in his mouth. Emory doesn't seem to appreciate this silence and promptly tugs his foot away, taking more bites of the gum box so he can continue spitting them in Nyx's face.

"You're a big boy, why don't you just get up huh?" He jeers, having run out of mouth ammo.

"I don't know man...you look like you can do a few terrible things. Plus, I don't wanna go to jail for accidentally killing a stray cat."

"WHAT CAT?!" Wide-eyed, the boy is instantly distracted and starts whipping his head around in frantic search for any felines.

Nyx quickly uses this moment of distraction to lift his arms, effectively shoving Emory off of him and scrambling up to sprint away.

"HEY GET BACK HERE YOU TACO-SHOP-SMELLING SCUM MAN!" Emory screams upon realizing he's been tricked.

Nyx runs as fast as his long legs can carry him and shouts over his shoulder, "NEVER, WET LEAF!"

"I DO NOT SMELL LIKE WET LEAF! DON'T FORGET I STILL HAVE THE KNIFE AND I KNOW HOW TO USE IT AS A LONG-RANGE WEAPON!" Brandishing the knife, he races toward Nyx and swiftly takes him down. Poor Nyx's face meets the ground and he is oddly still. Emory gives him an unfriendly slap, "Big old wuss."

Nyx remains unmoved. Then he jerks awake with a gasp, uttering a very profane word as he comes to realize that he now has a sizable bruise on his forehead.

"Ya goon," snorts Emory. He pokes and prods at Nyx, then just stomps on the crook of the poor guy's arm for no reason.

"OW."

"Teehee. Man you've got a goose egg." The little bastard taps the injury.

"Ey–" Nyx makes a feeble attempt to swat at the twerp, only to be hissed at and have his fingers bitten. Venom burns into the wounds; Nyx clenches his teeth and holds back more profanity, "Why are you so mean man?! OW."

"I dunno. Why are you so big?"

"I work out."  Nyx's other fist swings to meet the boy's cheekbone and he tumbles back in surprise.

"MY TEETH!!! HOW DARE YOU!" He screeches. "I WILL BITE YOUR MUSCLES AND PARALYZE YOUR ENTIRE BODY!"

"LISTEN MAN I JUST WANNA GO HOME!"

"OH I'LL SEND YOU HOME TO YOUR MAKER!"

Nyx, now furious, scrambles away again. "NOPE."

Emory once again begins to chase him. Kid doesn't seem to know when to quit. He chases Nyx to an apartment complex; one of the nicer ones that actually gets maintained around here. Nyx frantically unlocks the door and stumbles inside, quickly locking the door behind him.

"Frickin' gremlin..." He's starting to regret stepping in to help the kid. Sort of.

Awful noises begin to echo through his apartment's ductwork and Nyx pales, running to the kitchen in search of more knives. While he is distracted by the hunt for weapons, the scrawny boy emerges from one of the air return vents in the living room and hides behind a massive plant in the corner of the room.

Nyx peers out of the kitchen, holding a steak knife. Unseen by him, the feral boy grins wickedly, thinking he's going to get away with more trouble...

Then, without warning, as is customary with such things, hiccups plague the feisty youth.

Nyx blinks. "What."

HICCUP! HICCUP!

"Hey if you're IN MY HOUSE I'm gonna... I'm gonna uh... I'm gonna SELL YOUR KIDNEYS."

The hiccuping intruder releases an unholy screech, causing one of the windows to crack. "NOT MY KIDNEYS!!!"

The intensity triggers Nyx to raise his voice further, "GET OUTTA MY HOUSE!"

"NO!" Emory emerges from his place behind the plant, bolts for the kitchen and proceeds to raid the fridge.

Nyx follows the boy and manages to get him in a headlock. The little perpetrator kicks and screams like a banshee, and apparently had grabbed the mustard and is now shaking it up and down, yellow substance squirting everywhere.

"MY MUSTARD!"

Successfully disarming the kid, Nyx drags him into the living room and sits on the couch, pinning Emory like one would a disobedient toddler.

Emory howls.

"I will let you go if you CALM DOWN AND BEHAVE!" Nyx barks, only to have the kid scream in his face. Nyx smacks him, "BAD random boy."

Growl.

"No. Bad." He smacks the kid again. "Be nice and maybe I'll give you a pastry and throw you out."

Emory kicks Nyx's shins, then gets distracted by a strange rectangular object with a screen. His interest and curiosity piqued, he instantly settles down. Nyx almost bites the kid's ear out of rage, then cautiously releases him once distracted. Emory crawls around the stand, inspecting it. He has never seen such a thing before.

Taking this as an opportunity, Nyx creeps away to clean up the kitchen, then pops a pastry into the toaster to try and trick this feral kid into getting out.

During his inspection of this strange, flat-screened box thing, Emory pokes what he doesn't realize is a power button. Some moving picture fills the screen and he instantly dives into the couch, screaming in horror, "HELP WHY IS IT TALKING?!"

Nyx groans and shouts from the kitchen, "IT'S TALKING BECAUSE IT'S A TELEVISION. IT MAKES MOVING PICTURES!"

"MAKE IT STOP!" The boy covers his sensitive ears.

Nyx walks in with the pastry in hand and calmly turns off the TV, "Get out of there. Here, have a sweet."

"I HATE SWEETS!" The kid snarls.

"Then get out."

Obstinate, the kid merely finds a blanket and pulls it over himself. Nyx wrinkles his nose in mild disgust, then decides, Well, if he's being fine then I'll just leave him be.

He most certainly doesn't want his ductwork getting ruined.

Emory stays under the blanket, pretending to be a good boy whilst secretly gnawing the sofa's upholstery. This entire time, Nyx tries his best to ignore the little crackhead, hoping perhaps if he does not interact with him, the kid will remain calm and not destroy anything.

After about half an hour, he opens the front door, creeps over to the kid, and lifts up the blanket. "What are ya doin' under there? Don't you know it's dangerous to stay in strangers' houses?"

Emory snarls, a strip of fabric clenched in his fanglike teeth. Nyx's face contorts into shock.

"Ey! Not my COUCH!" He rolls up the blanket and baps the kid over the head. Emory blinks nonchalantly before snatching the rolled blanket, and despite Nyx's best attempts to repossess the thing his efforts are in vain.

"Listen, if you're gonna squat here for a bit, there's gonna be some ground rules."

"No."

"Rule one is DON'T EAT MY FRICKING COUCH!"

"I'LL EAT IT IF I WANT TO!" Screams Emory, smacking Nyx with the blanket as hard as he can before Nyx tears it from his pale lanky fingers.

"Do that, and I'll call an exterminator!"

"EXTERMINATOR WON'T DO ANYTHING!"

"They will cage you like a hamster."

"NO THEY WON'T! THEY WON'T BE ABLE TO CATCH ME!" the kid insists. Nyx grabs the nearest pillow and whacks him over the head with it.

"Where do you even LIVE, man?! Can't you go back to where you came from? Don't they miss you there?"

"NO I CAN'T! SHUT UP!" 

    Nyx bestows him another blow from the pillow, but it's not hard enough to induce pain.

    "WHY NOT?"

    "BECAUSE!!" He screams vaguely, dodging the  pillow and also the subject.