You're not really sure how many games you both played, but you got your ass handed to you enough times to know that you were right in never wanting to bet real money against Dane. He's holding the remaining cards in his right hand with both of his brows raised in a silent question. You sit silently for a second before shaking your head. No, no more of this; you had enough of losing hypothetical money.

"I surrender," you say, holding both hands up. "You are the master."

He chuckles, adding the remaining cards to the steadily growing pile.

"You bet I am. Now where should I take my bro next? From the looks of it, nowhere you can lose money, so we might as well get off the strip."

"Fuck you, man." You sit back in your stool and cross your arms over your chest. "Let's get something to eat. We've done the typical ne'er-do-well discussions over cards."

"'Ne'er-do-well'?" Dane repeats pointedly.

"I've been living with Bro for a long time. Some shit rubs off on you."

"Right." He drags out the word as though he doesn't believe you. He puts the cards away in their box and shoves it back in its proper place. "Alright; let's get something to eat, any ideas?"

You shrug. "I'm up for anything."

"Then let's go for Chang's right up the street."

He makes a move to leave the table, and you get out of the stool. Well, it was good while it lasted, being treated like a big wig without the high stakes that is. He follows you out of the room and turns off the light.

"Where's it at? Here on the strip?" you ask, looking over your shoulder.

"Yeah," he says, pulling a pack from his pocket. "Follow me."

He smoked while you two were making your way to the restaurant. It's still weird to you, just because you know how Sis is. Striders treated their bodies like a temple. It was important to stay on top of training, to push your bodies to the limit, and to make sure that nothing fucked up with your health. It was all key for survival. Yeah, you all had that one questionable hobby, but it was nothing that interfered with your life, not really. So to see Dane smoking was, well, kind of a big deal, but you could easily see how Sis could get tired of preaching the same old story to a thick headed bozo like this guy.

Yeah, you could understand it, but you didn't like it.

He flicks his cigarette away when you get to the restaurant. The white architecture is appealing to you, but you wouldn't sit around gawking at it. The cool chill of the interior greets you as you enter the building. A friendly waiter, a nice table and you two get yourselves situated. You look around while settling down. This place is so very Chinese. Not in a bad way, no no. It's just a big dose of culture to go along with your Wonton Platter. You think of all the Americanized pseudo-food you were used to eating at home, but 'ey, when in Rome.

"You're paying for this date, you know that right," you state, not looking to the other male.

Dane looks up from his menu. "What, no way. We're splitting this halfway."

"How do you know I brought money?"

"The look of relief in your eyes every time you lost your cards."

Your brows move together. "How the hell did you—"

"It's my job to know that. Now shut up and get ready to split the bill. Don't worry; I'll make it worth your while."

You scoff and open up your menu. "Fuck, man. I'm not made of money."

"Bull. Shit."

You shake your head. Can't argue with that. You're barely paying attention to the food items; your mind is going over another important issue a few times. Got to be gentle with this kind of thing. It was a lot like doing brain surgery. After all, feelings are hard. You're staring at the menu long enough that the waitress makes her way over towards your table; you both order, and she takes away your menus. It's not long before she comes back with your drinks and leaves you two alone again.

"'Ey, bro. I got somethin' for ya," you say, picking up your drink.

"Hm?"

You hold up a finger and take a sip of your drink. Now that you think about it; you were a little rusty for this, but he'd have to manage. You place the drink down, and you start spitting out some beats. You bob your head side to side, hands moving abstractly to the rhythm coming out of your mouth. Dane moves to the beat, head tilted down towards his drink. You wrap it up and point towards him, as though to hinting for him to pick it back up. He flicks his eyes up towards you, and you can see the orange eyes over the top of the shades. He lifts his head up and pushes up his lens, facing you. You shake your head and start beat-boxing again, changing the beat for him to pick up on. This time, before you can finish, he starts off with a throaty record-scratch and adds the bass to your tunes. He leans back and moves his hand side to side, index and middle fingers extended with his thumb lifted up. A group of four walks by your table and looks down to you two. You glance up but hardly give them the attention. Personal bonding time, sorry. No room for spectators.

When it's over, you two reach over the table and slap hands, curling your fingers and locking them together before pulling away with a snap and a point. Some people from the other tables applaud, and you two look up with a laugh. The small group of spectators had settled down at their table but turned to applaud as well. At least others were being entertained.

The waitress comes by and sets up her tray to start shelving out your food. There's a lot to eat, but somehow, you'll manage. Did they have a time limit on eating? Damn, you hope not.

"So what was that about?" Dane asks, pulling the soup closer to him. "The beat-boxing, I mean."

"Just felt like kicking out some beats. You're not that bad. Actually, I think Bro might be proud."

"He better be," he snaps back indignantly. "He's been harassing me on Skype for the past month over it."

You scoff. "Dude's crazy."

"You're telling me."

You got clay pot beef stew. Why, you'll never know, but it looks full of all sorts of goodness. Why wait? The food's good and the conversation plentiful. Just a nice day out away from the crazies at home. Actually the food is really good; you might have to take some to go, shit. Dane places his bowl on top of yours and scoots his empty rice plate to the side. You stack your bowls on top of each other and lean back. It was time to make room for dessert, and yes, you are taking some food to go.

You adjust your shades and point to the other Strider.

"We're gonna hang out tonight, just you and me. I think I can fix your problem, which isn't as big as it seems to be at first."

Dane tips his head to the side, fingers creeping towards one of your plates, "What're you talkin' about."

"We're coming back to the strip later tonight. I'm gonna draw out that inner beast." You pick up your fork. "Other than that, don't worry about it."

You move your hand down to stab at the back of his hand, and suddenly one of your beef strip-things is gone. Your mouth twitches downward in the left corner, and his quirks up. Fuck that. You were going to steal one of his-

"Dude, did you seriously eat it all?" Your brows shoot up. "That's five fucking plates of food."

"Live and learn, man. Plus I gotta keep food in my stomach."

"Sis run you ragged?"

"In every possible way, got damn." He runs his fingers through his hair and lets his palm rest against his forehead. "But yeah, I'm game for your little plan, bro."

He lowers his hand and curls it into a fist. You reach up and tap it with your own. He smirks; you smirk. It's all good.