1. I Can't See Your Halo.

MARCH 15, 2013 | 2:25 pm

—

INT. CARLTON BLACK PREPARATORY - CLASSROOM. DAY.

Halo Noel:

Ok little ones, make sure you pack up all your books and stationery before leaving.

Halo Noel, the petite, and boyishly handsome teacher announces a dismissal to his group of thirty-or-so second-year class in his thick European accent. He wears a cream button-down, beneath a notched-lapel jacket in a muted grey with, chinos of the same colour, and polished, ankle-high boots. A modest, powerful outfit that sits on his toned frame flawlessly and punctuates his clean, polished look.

His subtle Arabic features are set like a sculpture under the glowing lights of the classroom, and the sun makes a slow descent beyond the hills. His curly, unkempt hair is mysterious in its effortless beauty and is a raven bundle of strands piled atop his head in a beautiful, mop-like mess.

It contrasts his pale-ivory complexion, his steely grey eyes and freckles that dust his nose and cheeks like a drizzle of cinnamon sugar. His light, scruffy beard adds an extra appeal. Making him seem more mature than his twenty-four years.

It doesn't take long for them to begin piling out of the classroom in droves. Some had already packed up in advance to a five-minute dismissal notification. Just as ready as he is to go home to finish the day with dinner and afternoon cartoons.

- The week ahead had silent promises to be tedious, but manageable as there were no assignments to grade. The weekend was his to burn, but only after entering the new week's curriculum of activities to the associate website. Carlton Black Preparatory was a school learning more diverse ways to bolster the academic and social aspects of its teaching. Halo had influence, and the correct grit to lay the groundwork for first and second graders. Putting him high upon the committee.

As he watches the class empty, Halo rakes slim fingers through his shoulder-length dark curls, sighing when he sits with a weary grunt. A headache begins to cinch through his forehead, and he shakes the sensation away, gathering his clutter of papers. A book falls with a rustling plop and Halo looks up from his desk to see Gael Slater, a blonde-haired nine-year-old boy with a known love of classic novels. He looks up from where he stands before the desk, casting a glimmering brown glance.

Gael wears pleated, brown khakis, which reach down to just above his shoes, with a white short-sleeved, button-down covering the waistband of his khakis. The uniform for Carlton Black Preparatory, in all its glory, and well taken care of. His small, freckled face morphs into a smile and Halo raises his left eyebrow, leaning forward with both hands clasped atop the desk.

Halo Noel:

New book?

Gael shakes his head.

Gael Slater:

My dad gave it to me.

The boy shrugs moving around the desk.

Halo Noel:

Can I see it?

Gael hands Halo the leather-bound book, reading the simple yet intricate title, impressed.

Halo Noel:

Tom Sawyer.

He runs his right hand over the worn leather spine.

Halo Noel:

Is your father coming to pick you up?

Halo checks his watch, notices the time, and sits up.

- Usually, Gael would be the first to leave, as his father was never tardy. So, seeing the boy hanging back feels odd to the attentive teacher.

Gael Slater:

He told me to stay inside until he finds me.

Halo's eyes narrow in speculation, but he sighs in resignation.

- He contemplates the request, but he was far from considering not staying with a child who insisted on his safety and company.

Halo Noel:

Sure, Gael.

Halo smiles and the boy gleams with pride.

Halo Noel:

Why don't you grab a chair, and we'll read together until your father arrives?

Gael nods, complying with haste.

- From what Halo could remember, Gael Slater was a curious child with something of a gift. That gift is his need to learn and to read. He was patient, not very loud, and went about unseen even with a crowd of children on the playground. He even read with delight in his eyes, as if every unfamiliar word is a marvel, he holds on to after learning them. His pronunciation wasn't always precise, but he shows a craft, by sounding out each letter, learned from tirelessly studying his alphabet. It all hit the nose, and Halo is instantly filled with pride after the boy manages to read an entire chapter.

Halo Noel:

That was very impressive, Gael.

Halo beams and the boy returns it, prideful in the eyes as he's praised for his reading skills.

Halo Noel:

Your father hit the nail on the head with this one. This story has been passed down through generations of children across the world, some translated for other countries that do not speak English, and some translated for adults.

Gael simply stares at Halo, with curious brown eyes.

Halo Noel:

My father read it to me when I was about your age, running around Arlingfell.

Gael Slater:

What language does Arlingfell speak?

Halo chuckles.

Gael Slater:

And what do you mean by adults?

Halo Noel:

To answer your first question; We speak British English, and many languages there, as Arlingfell, is a coalition of independent nations from all over the world. We have a king, seven states, also known as duchies, and our national animal is the Cebu Flowerpecker.

Gael grins at the response.

Gael Slater:

That's funny and fancy.

He shrugs and Halo frowns slightly.

— Halo hated how his accent set him apart in a city like Boston. Yet, he is unable to see it as fancy considering he'd heard it in his circle every day growing up.

Halo Noel:

You'd think differently if you grew up there. I speak English, French, Spanish, and three Arabic dialects.

He grins and Gael tilts his head, watching the man from where he sits.

Gael Slater (In Modern Arabic):

Can you teach me more?

Halo gasps, thoroughly surprised at the near-perfect pronunciation. He shakes his head, eyes blinking rapidly as Gael gives him a sweet smile.

Halo Noel (In Modern Arabic):

How... is this possible?

Gael Slater (In Modern Arabic):

My uncle.

Gael shrugs.

Halo Noel:

Huh......

Halo leans back in his seat with a contemplative look on his face.

Halo Noel:

Well, to answer your second question there is a darker version of the story, but you must be old enough to read it.

Gael Slater:

It's funny, but sometimes a little weird.

Halo Noel:

A little weird is always useful in the world of fiction. It is what makes a story interesting.

Halo offers a solemn glance.

Halo Noel:

Though things considered weird in real life are simply different benefits and quirks. I like eating bananas with a fork.

Gael frowns, chuckling with a shake of his head.

Gael Slater:

That is weird.

Halo Noel:

Perhaps.

Gael Slater:

Why do you eat a banana with a fork?

His question makes Halo pause and considers the answer with a silent stare.

Gael Slater:

I'm only asking because my father says when things are weird, I should ask and not assume. He also says people from other countries are the reason our own is so big.

Gael slams the book shut, and Halo nods.

Lucian Slater:

It might not have sounded like that.

A man with a deep voice and a heavy southern accent shadows the entrance of the classroom. It startles Halo so efficiently that his look of horror surprises the man who stands in the doorway and recoils.

Lumbering well over six feet tall, the fair-skinned man has a reticent feel about him and a messy man bun of thick, brownish hair. A particularly notable feature is his brooding half-smile and full, shaped beard. One that morphs his lean face and rounded chin. He wears a dark blue flannel shirt, the same colour as his wash-out jeans tucked into old, sturdy, black work boots. The shirt brings out the ocean blue of his eyes, while flecks of grey glint in the afternoon light.

Halo Noel:

I am properly startled.

He breathes out a heavy laugh and rises from his seat to approach the man.

Lucian Slater:

Wasn't my intention.

Lucian doesn't smile, but his eyes do not seem worried or offended.

Gael Slater:

Daddy!

Gael races up to the man, who softens with a mellowing smile when the boy runs into his lean, brawny arms. Jostling his shirt to reveal the many tattoos under the grease-stained wife-beater.

From his cuffed shirt, a dark but shaded sleeve of thorny roses, clocks, and crosses cover his right arm, while a spiralling black dragon travels around his left. Spine and scales shaded in, with burgundy lines that fade to a light crimson down its tail that hides below his classic wristwatch.

Lucian Slater:

Hey, bud.

He crouches on one knee to greet his son's tight hug.

Lucian Slater:

I'm sorry I'm late.

Gael Slater:

It's ok, I was reading my new book to my teacher.

He smiles, showing his teeth in a proud grin.

Lucian Slater:

That so?

Gael nods vigorously.

Lucian Slater:

Did ya like it?

— The book was a family heirloom that his father had graciously happened upon a day or two before. Gael's intrigue did the rest of the work. Offering him a new novel to dive right into as it was among the list of classic books Gael ached to read.

Halo Noel:

I think he does.

Halo takes the time to chime in, bringing Russell's attention to him.

Halo Noel:

His reading level is considered phenomenal. Gael is obsessed with books. Can't say I'm complaining, he has way better social skills than I do. His Arabic, however, was a pleasant surprise.

Lucian Slater:

He has an uncle.

Lucian shrugs.

Halo Noel:

I'm Halo Noel, Gael's Language, and Literacy Development, teacher. I do not think we have been properly introduced.

Halo extends his right hand, but it only hangs awkwardly until he realizes the man is never going to shake it.

Lucian Slater:

Lucian.

The man rasps eagerly.

Halo Noel:

Charmed.

Halo's voice grows heavy as he realizes just how embarrassing the moment is and lets his hand fall to his side.

Halo Noel:

Gael has shown an increasingly developed sense of words and their meanings. He could-.

Lucian Slater:

I'd really love to stay and chat, but I got to get home to make this boy's dinner, or he'll be stuck eating takeout again.

He tries to smile and lighten the mood, but there is an urgency in his tone that Halo suddenly feels burdened by. Though, his southern drawl makes Halo's legs quiver imperceptibly.

Lucian Slater:

Are you ready to cut?

Gael nods then stares up at his teacher as Lucian stands, arms spanning the boy's shoulders.

Halo Noel:

Ok, no-sure. See you in class tomorrow, Gael.

He waves at the boy, then watches as they leave with a thoughtful glance wrought by a feeling of anxiousness.

To quell the feeling of embarrassment coursing through him, Halo busies himself with packing up his folders and straightening the desk. A few voices capture his attention, but he carries on until a group of two walks by the classroom. The first is Calum, a tall, redhead with dazzling emerald-blue eyes. They stop, noticing Halo still standing in the classroom.

Calum Beauchamp:

Mr Noel?

Calum steps into the class with Mrs Olive Moore, another teacher on the first-year calendar. This meticulous twenty-seven-year-old Caucasian woman has brown eyes, a deep dark complexion, and fine black hair in a short braid.

Olive Moore:

How are you still here?

Halo Noel:

Are you people here to bully me?

Halo gasps dramatically as Olive grins.

Olive Moore:

He has a crush on you.

Calum rolls his eyes, embarrassed by her boldness.

Calum Beauchamp:

Aaaand we are changing the subject, back to my curiosity that is in no way involved with whatever crush I have on you.

Calum nudges the woman.

Olivia Moore:

So says the crusher.

Halo laughs under his breath.

Calum Beauchamp:

Don't you have like... kids to go home and feed?

Calum rolls his eyes, satisfied when she gasps and slaps his shoulder.

Olive Moore:

Low-blow, Buddy, but you're only half right.

She smiles then pats his chin and turns to leave.

Calum Beauchamp:

Is she even qualified to be a teacher?

Halo Noel:

I enjoy her.

Calum's brows furrow, unable to fathom the response.

Halo Noel:

What? She is raw, real, and off the clock. How much do you think I am craving a glass of the finest scotch this city has to offer?

Halo gestures with his arms after slinging his dark-brown messenger bag over his left shoulder, affixing the double-strapped leather across his chest.

Calum Beauchamp:

As much as I'm craving a barbecue. It's Friday, I need to establish life because my twenties are slowly winding down to a flutter of nothingness.

—

MARCH 16, 2013 | 8:05 pm

—

INT. ISABELLA STEWART GARDNER MUSEUM - BALLROOM. NIGHT.

The loud buzz of cheerful laughter, glass on glass, and schmoozing form the typical royal shindig. The blur of faces, couture, and music cuts through like a dream. Halo stands in the midst, a three-piece, heather-grey suit fitting perfectly on his petite frame. His crown of dark hair, and grey eyes glimmer. Unfazed by the flashing lights and the cameras pointed in every direction. The deafening cacophony of people encumbers inside the ballroom. Security corals a group of fancily dressed nobles and tourists. All casually jostled by the mass of arms and warm bodies.

The tumultuous mass of surging folk still carries on where other dancing proletariats mill about in pearls and diamonds. Flutes of champagne pass about, with old-fashioned drinks and expensive, imported cigars that leave a plume in the air. Made-up faces, primped nobles under the gleam of a chandelier. Celebrities, royals, and a myriad of other event patrons move to and fro. Gathered for a summit, televised for media streaming in the next two months.

Halo moves through the masses, avoiding contact on account of his unfamiliarity with his noble roots. He makes it to a grand bar, much closer to the entrance than the performers ahead. Clad in their shimmering, revealing apparel to a popular Scandinavian waltz. Bustling in the activity of the private event, with arriving guests and prompt valets.

Halo stops at the bar, greeting the closest bartender. An urbane twenty-something woman with blue eyes, dark olive complexion, and curly light brown hair cut short. She leans her towering and well-built frame over the counter.

Bartender:

Welcome! What can I get for ya?

She chirps with a smile.

Halo Noel:

Bramble, no blackberry garnish.

He smiles at the woman.

She finishes his drink and presents it to him with a dramatic flourish. Just then Karim Abdel steps up beside him. His suit fits him like a glove, displaying a man who spent a third of his life in the gym. Though, unlike Halo, he's Arab, tall, and older. Every bit of handsome the room can carry.

Karim Abdel (In Modern Arabic.):

You came.

The man greets without turning in Halo's direction.

Karim Abdel:

I will have what he is having.

He addresses the bartender and then leans against the counter.

Halo Noel (In Modern Arabic):

I promised I would.

Halo looks over at the man. Expression concerned and confused, but his Arabic clean and precise.

Halo Noel:

How are you?

He smiles then, and the man chuckles. Eyes glazing over Halo as he inclines his head to the right.

Karim Abdel:

I miss my son.

Halo chuckles under his breath.

Halo Noel:

Then I am certain he misses you as well.

Halo raises his glass as the bartender slides Karim's drink to him. They touch glasses, then gaze out at the soirée in full effect.

Halo Noel:

How long do I have to shake hands, and chat up the nobles?

Karim Abdel:

You are showing up to show to support me. That is all I need.

Karim turns to Halo and raises his glass in a friendly gesture.

Karim Abdel:

Though, I do have someone for you to meet.

Halo sighs.

Halo Noel:

Do you ever not have someone for me to meet?

Halo looks on when the man gestures to the stage.

The dancers bow then leave the area, and a profound and crisply dressed young man steps forward. His dark onyx eyes twinkle from the lights that highlight his freckled complexion, and thick deep brown hair in a crew cut.

Applause goes up, and the man waves, looking nervous. He then grabs the mic, and static screams across the room subtly.

Qasim Assad (In Modern Arabic):

Thank you all for attending this year's nobles' ball, in conjunction with the Carlton Black Initiative.

A chorus of applause rises, and the room is further punctuated by incessant chatter. All intrigued by the handsome young man, with the sultry Algerian accent.

Karim Abdel:

He's a shy one.

Karim chuckles, and Halo blushes when the man turns his dazzling smile towards him.

Karim Abdel:

Just like you.

—

MARCH 16, 2013 | 8:11 pm —

INT. SILVER RIDGE HEIGHTS. SLATER RESIDENCE - KITCHEN.  NIGHT.

LUCIAN stands shirtless, in black, baggy pyjama bottoms with his arms akimbo. A stunning area with Donald Judd–style cream shelves and papered ceiling in a vintage pattern. The walls bring a distinct panache to the space, and somehow coordinate with the faux-granite countertops, and open, oak floor. Stained glass windows are raised above the sink and floor cupboards. It is adjoined by a carpeted space developed from an old garage, with a roll-up glass door, which looks out at a serene, simple backyard fenced around by tall, weathered wooden grates.

Lucian Slater:

Gael!

He hears the soft pitter-patter of the boy's small feet on the carpeted floor. The boy rounds the corner and stops when he sees the puddle of milk on the epoxy-tiled floor.

Gael Slater:

Yes, papa?

He smiles a sweet smile and tugs at his plain, white t-shirt with his right hand, while his left is stuck down the front of his pants.

Lucian Slater:

That's it? Yes, papa?

Gael Slater (In Modern Arabic):

Yes... father?

Lucian smiles despite feeling annoyed.

Lucian Slater:

Ok, let's try this again.

He walks up to the boy.

Lucian Slater:

Why in blazes is there milk on the floor, boy?

Gael shrugs and then flees from the kitchen without another word.

Lucian Slater:

So, that happened.

He moves off towards the storage closet. As he cleans up the mess a few moments later, Lucian's phone chimes and he fishes it from his pocket to answer.

Lucian Slater:

Slaters.

Woman:

Hi. Have you recently had a safe delivered to reset the lock codes?

Lucian stops, then straightens up.

Lucian Slater:

And when was this safe brought in?

He goes back to work on the spilt liquid, already seasoned in his duties of multitasking.

Woman:

Just yesterday. I wanted to check in on its progress.

Lucian rubs his temple, unable to remember a safe being brought in, but he remembers he'd left his partner at the shop to run afternoon errands.

Lucian Slater:

I don't remember a safe, but if you give me till Monday, I can call my partner and see what's goin' on then I can give you an update.

He lets out a heavy sigh.

Woman:

Ok!

Her voice chirps.

Woman:

Thank you.

The line goes dead, and Lucian ponders the call but decides on making it the next week's priority.

— Later, Lucian discards a pizza box, covered with the local Murphy's Pizza logo.

Lucian Slater:

Ok, Bud. Time for bed.

He turns towards the dining room across the island counter where Gael sits, head buried in a book labelled: The Four-Hour Chef. A text on engineering for beginners. Finding trouble with a word, Gael looks up at his father.

Gael Slater:

What's this word?

Lucian walks over, scans the book and nods as he familiarizes himself with the word.

Lucian Slater:

Cohesion. Means unity.

Gael nods then closes the book with a loud sigh.

Gael Slater:

Thanks, dad! I'm going to brush my teeth now.

Lucian Slater:

Wait.

The boy stops and turns to face him with a smile.

Lucian Slater:

Your teacher, Mr Noel. He seems nice.

Lucian averts his gaze, absentmindedly cleaning an already glistening sink to distract his hands.

Gael Slater:

He's the best. He speaks Arabic like Uncle Karim.

Gael simpers for a moment then hops from the stool.

Gael Slater:

He likes the book you gave me.

Lucian turns to face Gael, who gives him a curious gaze in the name of the man's random query. Yet something in the boy's eyes makes Lucian jealous. The twinkle of adoration he'd seen shared between them both, even if it were for a small moment.

Lucian Slater:

Ok, you can go brush your teeth now.

Gael doesn't hesitate. He simply gathers his books and skips from the kitchen. Lucian finishes the kitchen and checks the backdoor one last time before retiring for the night.

—

MARCH 16, 2013 | 8:12 pm

—

INT. ISABELLA STEWART GARDNER MUSEUM - BALLROOM. NIGHT.

Qasim Assad (In Modern Arabic):

Today, we honour the seven houses of Arlingfell, and the kingdom's new call to order as the new regent, Karim Abdel takes on the monarch until Heir apparent, Garth Abdel, takes the throne. My name is Qasim Assad, and today I represent House Abdel of Arlan.

He steps back and raises his hands, and another round of applause goes up.

Qasim steps down from the stage, flanked by a guard, conspicuously dressed in full black. Karim raises his free hand, capturing Qasim's attention. The man walks over, eyes falling on Halo as he approaches.

Halo's features twist into one of bewilderment, but he's forced to fix his face and plaster on a megawatt smile when Qasim closes the distance.

Qasim Assad: (In Modern Arabic):

Your Royal Highness.

Qasim greets with a courteous bow.

Qasim Assad: (In Modern Arabic):

It is such an honour to serve my house at this event.

Karim Abdel:

Think nothing of it, Qasim.

Karim waves him off dismissively, then wraps his arm around Halo's waist to nudge him forward.

Karim Abdel (In Modern Arabic):

This is Duke Halo Noel of Arlan. He is to be my successor, following the recent changes in court.

Halo tentatively tucks a lock of hair behind his right ear.

Halo Noel (In Modern Arabic):

It's a pleasure to meet you, Qasim. Are you an Arlingfell native?

Qasim Assad:

No, but I wish I were. Like you, I am of Arabian descent, but I am from Algeria. Studying here in Arlingfell. The pleasure is mine, Your Grace.

He takes Halo's hand and wraps it between his palms.

Halo Noel:

I see you also speak fluent English.

Qasim Assad:

It comes with the territory.

Qasim lets Halo's hand go.

Qasim Assad:

How is America and... teaching?

Surprised, Halo blinks rapidly, but gathers his composure and clears his throat.

Halo Noel:

It is... good, I suppose.

He gives Qasim a nervous nod.

Karim Abdel:

I need another drink. Can I get you two anything?

Karim's gaze drifts between the two younger men.

Qasim Assad:

No thank you, Your Highness.

He nods in reverence.

Halo Noel:

This is all I plan to have since I drove here tonight.

Halo shrugs and Karim smiles with a nod.

Karim Abdel:

Play nice.

Karim nudges Halo, then moves away to mingle instead of grabbing a drink.

Halo Noel:

So, a curator?

Halo takes a sip, to distract himself from looking at Qasim who gives him a megawatt smile.

Qasim Assad:

Just for tonight. Your father will lead the auction, but I did select each item for this charity.

Halo nods as he glances out at the activities.

Qasim Assad:

I do however grow weary of this party.

Halo Noel:

Ahh.

Halo chuckles thoroughly cheered up.

Halo Noel:

Something we have in common. That should delight my father enough.

Qasim narrows his gaze, but it only brings out the delightful broodiness of his nature.

Qasim Assad:

You should trust we have many more things in common. The Regent is quite possibly the worst matchmaker there is. Bless his heart. But he is wont to find those amidst your... capacity to make friends of.

Halo is unable to suppress his laugh when he sees the look of amusement on Qasim's face.

Halo Noel:

Touché.

Halo smiles then downs the last of his drink.

Halo Noel:

Well, it was lovely to meet you Qasim, but I am afraid I must be going.

He steps towards the bar, leaving Qasim glancing after him. Halo returns his glass and turns to search the crowd for Karim. Fortunately, the man is just a few yards away, surrounded by a gang of noble people. Halo joins the fray, handing out jokes, enticing blandishments and envious candour.

He waves farewell to his father, before turning to leave the event, but before he walks off, Qasim appears from the crowd.

Qasim Assad:

Do you always ditch the men your mentor introduces you to?

Halo grunts in humour when he hears the familiar voice then turns to see Qasim standing behind him.

Halo Noel:

Yes, but none of them has ever thought it fit to follow me.

Qasim Assad:

Have dinner with me next weekend, Halo Noel of Arlan.

Halo Noel:

Ok.

Halo nods and Qasim's eyes bulge open.

Qasim Assad:

Was t-that a y-.

He stutters but Halo interrupts.

Halo Noel:

Yes.

He grins, tilting his head to peer at Qasim who adorably slumps his shoulders, still surprised. Though, he smiles a moment later.

—

MARCH 18, 2013 | 10:13 am —

INT. SLATER'S MECHANICAL WORKS - BACK ROOM. DAY.

Lucian stands in a small, cluttered space with dingy, low-grade lighting and the scent of rust and lubricant grease. One wall is lined to the ceiling with shelves of paints, and a plethora of liquid and solvents used in metalwork. He wears a clean pair of black overalls, tucked into polished work boots.

Lucian Slater:

Are those... bullet holes?  What on god's green earth...

Lucian glances at a ravaged safe box, grimacing at the small holes that cover the whole expanse of the aluminium surface. Sprayed in a glossy black, the safe is of high quality. The state-of-the-art biometric reader, a small disk that reads fingerprints flicker, then gashes lightly.

Lucas Chuck—or just Chuck, steps back to stand behind Lucian. He is a tall, athletic, impeccably rugged man as intensely handsome as Lucian in matching attire.

Lucas Chuck:

Probably holes from a diamond tip.

He is equally addled by the state of the safe, though it is the second time he's laid eyes on the metal box.

Lucas Chuck:

I'm surprised they didn't just take a blowtorch to it.

Lucian shakes his head and takes a careful step towards it.

Lucian Slater:

This safe is German in design, and I reckon the smallest, heaviest, and most durable portable safe there is.

Lucas Chuck:

Can't be that durable if it suffered this much damage.

Chuck snorts as he too examines it.

Lucian Slater:

The outer shell is weak, and the design is flawed since the metal used to create the actual part of the safe that keeps things, well... safe, don't protect the biometric scan. It does however have a deftly designed safety mechanism that interlocks with an intricately woven pattern.

Lucian stands up straighter and purses his lips, partly disappointed that the easily attained potential is lacking in the design.

Lucian Slater:

At least it motivates me to work on that project for the Hanstrom showcase.

Lucas Chuck:

Have you seen the books? You might have to put that project on pause.

Chuck folds his arms across his chest.

Lucian Slater:

We need to get rid of it, Chuck.

The man's eyes darken, but Lucian remains impassive when Chuck whirls his gaze on him.

Lucas Chuck:

You're kidding.

Chuck mutters unintelligibly under his breath and whisks his short dreadlocks back.

Lucas Chuck:

We can barely pay rent for this place, and you haven't built a custom safe in months!

Lucian Slater:

Goddammit, Luc! That thing got more holes than Swiss Cheese.

Lucian points at it frantically, and Chuck's eyes roll back in his head--a sign of exasperation.

Lucian Slater:

It's shady, and I want nothin' to do with it.

Lucas Chuck:

Last week it was a computer with a knife hole in it.

Lucian Slater:

This was explained, and a police report was filed in conjunction with domestic abuse.

Lucas Chuck:

What are we going to do about the shop, Lucian?

Chuck scratches his chin and lets out an unamused chuckle, but Lucian only grunts in reply.

Lucian Slater:

We don't accept shady jobs, Chuck. That's how you get a business shut down and the authorities come sniffing around where they ain't belong.

Lucas Chuck:

Fine.

He grunts in his bout of disapproval, yet he knows that Lucian is right.

They leave the room in silence, passing through a modern workshop. Shiny, worn, old, and new engineering equipment lines the clean, glossy floors. Some undergo the process of producing parts, and printing schematics. Large  LED screens display the word-based SLATER's logo. Animated to cross the screen in a faded pattern between two red lines. Other exhibitions posted on eye-catching posters add to the professional picture. Highlighting it as a business right with the present, and ripe with potential to diagnose, build, or repair mechanical constructs.

Lucas Chuck:

I'll call her and tell her we can't accept it. I'll just have to return the five grand she paid.

Lucian stops, then turns to face Chuck at the glass entrance of his office—usually behind rolling blinds. Raised to display the clean, moderate interior which boasts a desk with an offset corner-end with three display surfaces seen from any view with the main desktop being a glass surface. The end support leg is tastefully designed using a round rod piercing a rectangular metal leg. Fit with a simple lamp, modern computer, and a wooden race car—made and gifted by Gael Slater.

The remaining layout is crisp, though it only has one wide window ahead of the desk. Before it, sits a comfortable, white leather couch and small ottoman of the same colour. 

Lucian Slater:

We charge less than five hundred to reset biometric codes.

Lucas Chuck:

I don't know. The broad look rich.

Lucian Slater:

Then why can't she replace whatever is locked in the damn thing?

His eyebrows raise in heightened suspicion.

Lucian Slater:

How did she end up paying five grand?

Bea Larson:

Because that safe has what remains of my entire fortune in it.

Lucian turns to see a stunning, redhead, emblazoned in expensive garbs and over-the-top jewellery. Her peach-toned, ruched dress is chic and clings to her like a second skin, revealing her creamy shoulders and contrasting her fair complexion.

Bea Larson:

Bea Larson.

She approaches them and extends a hand toward Lucian. He peers at it, then turns to Chuck with a displeased frown.

Lucian Slater:

Get rid of it.

Lucian grunts and then pushes past the woman.

Lucas Chuck:

Come on, Lucian, it's five-fucking-grand.

Chuck follows Lucian into the office.

Lucas Chuck:

That covers the mortgage and all the other-.

Lucian stops in his tracks and turns to face Chuck with a less-than-pleased expression.

Lucian Slater:

Return... her money.

Lucas Chuck:

I'm your partner, not your damn slave.

Chuck storms past Lucian and hockey-checks his left shoulder. The woman steps aside, stunned when Chuck lumbers past her with his gargantuan frame.

—

MARCH 18, 2013 | 10:15 am —

EXT. CARLTON BLACK PREPARATORY - PLAYGROUND. DAY.

The playground dazzles under the afternoon sun with a myriad of small children dotting the expanse. Children swing on the swings, some roaming about with snacks and confections both sweet and savoury. Screaming their childish obscenities, or just the names of their friends across the clean, well-maintained playground.

Gael sits at the edge of the sandbox, all by his lonesome. Reading his book. Lost in the world of Tom Sawyer, without any distraction hindering him.

Across the grassy field, three boys— Jason Joppy, a freckled redhead, and blonde twins Connor and Canaan Ables, approach another boy, Jessie Lio. A button-cute boy, of Asian descent, with raven dark hair and shimmering hazel eyes. He is lost in his book at the edge of the playground among the benches upon a concrete dais. His eyes traveling across each line in the older, tarnished publication with a missing front page and worn spine.

The boy's tousled uniforms from their playing have hints of dirt and grass stains about them. Showing no regard for their appearance, though it is recess and not lunch.

Jason Joppy:

He's reading again.

The middle boy nudges the redhead on his left.

Jessie Lio:

Go away, Jason.

The boy, Jessie, turns away and fixes his glasses. Adamant in ignoring the group that terrorized him daily.

Gael watches from where he sits, book splayed open across his knees, juice box sitting unopened on his left side.

Jessie still doesn't look up and without saying a word, Jason yanks the book out of his unwilling arms, ripping the back cover further down the edge of the spine. Jessie rolls his eyes, then sighs as he stands up, justifiably stunned and outraged.

Jessie Lio:

Give it back, Jason!

His voice and stance are demanding, but the boy simply snickers at his friends.

Jason Joppy:

What are you going to do about it?

Jessie Lio:

I'll go to the Principal!

Jason steps forward menacingly and delivers a punch to Jessie's stomach. The boy doubles over in pain, but the assault does not end. Taking advantage of the moment and the chants of surrounding children, Jason shoves Jessie—hard. Sending his glasses flying from his face and him rolling against the concrete, crying out in agony.

Gael shoots up from where he stands, hand tightening around his book that he slams shut.

Jason's two compatriots laugh at Jessie, who sits up to clutch at his burning knee. Gael notices the blood, and the deep gash, even from where he stands and marches over after steeling himself.

Gael Slater:

Give him his book back.

His appearance startles the twin boys, but Jason turns with a glare.

Jason Joppy:

Oh, look. Another nerd coming to the nerd's rescue. Don't be a hero, weirdo. This has nothing to do with you.

Gael ignores Jason and strolls over to Jessie, who searches for his glasses with squinted eyes. He crouches and picks it up, then places it back on Jessie's face gently.

Gael Slater:

Can you stand up?

Jessie nods, and Gael scans the cut. He reaches into his right front pocket and fishes out a clean handkerchief.

Jason looks on restlessly as Gael presses the handkerchief against Jessie's bloody knee and helps him to stand up. But Jason runs forward and pushes Gael. The boy stumbles forward almost losing his footing, but he rights himself and whirls on Jason.

Jason sniggers again, but he grunts when Gael's right fist connects with his nose.

Gael Slater:

Give...

He slams his knee into Jason's stomach.

Gael Slater:

... it.

He stops when the twin on Jason's right attacks with a growl, but he dodges the boy's flailing arms and shoulder-checks Jason.

Gael Slater:

... back.

He pushes the second twin back, and he grabs the book as Jason topples to the ground. Bawling his eyes out as he clutches his bleeding nose.

The commotion draws a larger crowd of children, even those that are at the far ends of the playground. Many students laugh, while others cower back in concern at the nonchalant Gael. The third boy stares at his brother and friend in horror, while the other tends to Jason.

Gael Slater:

Now, look what you made me do.

Gael shakes his head in disappointment, then twirls dramatically and struts over to Jessie.

Gael Slater:

Punching him is wrong, and I might get in trouble, but he had it coming.

Jessie Lio:

You're like... so awesome.

The boy grins at Gael, but he turns the book around and notices the back cover is missing.

Gael Slater: Sorry about the cover.

Jessie Lio:

It's ok. I still have my cover page and glossary.

Jason lifts the book, and a page flutters to the ground.

Gael Slater:

Oh!

Jessie Lio:

Well... most of it.

Gael glances back at Jason and his friends and notices the boy clutching the torn cover that he discards.

Jason Joppy:

Get off me!

Jason shoves the boy who tends to him and stands up. Without looking in Gael or Jessie's direction, he storms off with the twins in tow.

Jessie Lio:

He is such a boob.

Gael laughs and Jessie waves after his assailants with a relieved look in his eyes.

Jessie Lio:

Want to hang out at lunch?

Gael glances at the boy in ponder, but he soon nods with a smile.

Gael Slater:

Ok, but only if we can switch books.

Halo Noel:

What is going on here?

Gael's face darkens and Jessie freezes.

Gael Slater:

Crap!

Halo parts the sea of pupils with gentle, guiding arms and comes to a stop when he sees Gael and Jessie. Both glancing up at him with nervous, pensive glances.

Gael Slater (Nervous):

He... hit us first?

He opens his arms in an unsure gesture, and Jessie nods vigorously beside him as Halo stands before him, black waistcoat rumpled by his arms that cross over his chest disapprovingly. His polished loafers tap against the ground, as he awaits an answer, but Jessie and Gael exchanged guilty looks.

—