Inevitably, eyes follow the unsightly pair through back alleys and side streets; Nyx strays from the main roads in hopes of avoiding the local Patrol.

    Because he knows just as well as anyone that technically, what he is doing is very illegal–punishable by death, even.

    He hurries along through more dark twisted alleys, hoping to heaven that the boy is awake and conscious by the time they reach their destination. He also hopes that the boy will not try to escape and make a scene once he figures out he's been transported.

    The destination in mind is a small diner, a regular old greasy spoon; once popular in decades past but now just a hangout for teenagers and the occasional small family. It's a great place to get a cheap, filling meal, and a great place to just loiter without anyone really being up in your business.

    However, to get there he must cross half the city. On foot, it's a trek. Longer with someone on your shoulder. And his shoulder is burning. He blames the boy's deadweight and adjusts him ever so slightly, only to find that it enhances the pain rather than relieving it. Setting his jaw, he continues onward. About halfway to the diner, the feral boy seems to surface from his temporary unconsciousness, almost immediately trying to pick a fight.

    "You just don't give up, do you?" Nyx remarks, his tone a mix of admiration and annoyance.

    The feral boy is silent, his large eyes darting everywhere, scoping for threats. When he realizes they're in an entirely different place, a low growl sounds from his throat.

   "Well, nice to know you're not a quitter." Nyx mutters in response.

   The boy continues to struggle, making Nyx's job all the more exhausting and painful.

    "Alright, look mate, I'll make you a deal: I let you down, you can walk by yourself like a big boy, but you have to stick with me because I'm going to get you food."

    Growl.

    "I'll take that as a no, then. Alright. I'll carry you the rest of the way, since you want to be a pain about it."

    "NO," the boy snarls, struggling once more to free himself of Nyx's grasp. "I can walk, put me down!"

    "Fine, but if you run away i'll just try and catch you again. Maybe invite your little gang friends to beat some sense into you."

    "I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE!"

    "I told you who I am, mate. Or did that little hit to the head knock all your memories out?" Cautiously, wary of the boy's many injuries and possibly broken bones, Nyx releases the kid.

    Almost the moment those grubby sneaker soles hit the pavement, the boy rushes off down the alley. Nyx merely jogs after him, knowing that the boy's body should be compromised enough at this point that he won't be able to run for long.

    Nyx's observations are correct, for the boy soon trips over a stack of cardboard boxes, landing facedown on the pavement and not getting back up. Nyx hurries over to him, thinking it will be wise if he does not speak, merely checking the kid for broken bones before helping him up. This time, the kid does not resist. Doesn't even growl. He allows Nyx to assist him in completing the slow walk to the diner.

    A small bell signifies their entrance. Normally, only the employees running the joint would be the ones to glance up and give a nod to acknowledge their customers. Now, everyone occupying the building has turned to stare at the arrivals.

    They are certainly quite a sight: a pale kid, deathly thin and covered in blood, with one arm slung over shoulders of a much taller, stronger boy who is grimy and sweaty and also now covered in blood.

    The onlookers slowly go back to minding their business; this isn't the first time mangled streetfighters have come into the diner.

   Nyx pushes the feral boy into a booth and slides into the seat across from him, plucking some napkins from the rack on the table and pushing them to the boy.

    The boy glares at the napkins, not realizing they are for him to wipe his face on, and shoves them back toward Nyx. Folding his scrawny, bleeding arms, he slumps in the booth with a scowl.

    Nyx merely raises his eyebrows and turns his attention to the young waitress who has dared to approach their table. She timidly hands them two menus and asks if they'd like anything to drink right away. Nyx orders a glass of water and an iced tea, and the waitress hurries off to fulfill this request.

    Sliding one of the menus across the table, Nyx tries to get the feral boy's attention. It would appear he is sleeping, for his eyes are shut and he is breathing much more calmly than he had before. Loathe to disturb the boy, Nyx pores over his own menu. Maybe he should just order something for the boy? But what if he didn't like what Nyx chose?