undergrounds | do you fly in the day, darling

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do you fly in the day, darling

[A June catch-all! Pick an option and say hello, or start something more specific in the comments. Hit me up on plurk if you want a specific starter!]

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A Just another Saturday night out, Nancy's lips painted blood red and staining the side of her low-ball glass. Her legs are crossed at the ankles, black pumps and fishnets on full display under her short leather skirt. It's a night out, another night working. People around here knew who she was, what she offered. It was easier in supernatural bars, Nancy knew, to find vampires looking for a feeding, or even just a john wanting some company.

She props an elbow up on the bar, and looks down the the way, eyes peeled for any familiar, or unfamiliar, face. She'll just try not to think about how great it would be to be watching Netflix right now instead of work.

B Do you believe in fate, baby, ask me, ask me, the music played in her earbuds as Nancy jogged in place at a cross-walk. Trainers on her feet and hair pulled up in a pony-tail, she was doing her usual exercise routine. Always good to be fast on your feet, she'd learned as a child, and running was a great way to keep that up. Even if she had ways to get away, her feet were still just as important.

Besides, there was something relaxing about running, she'd found. She could shove the world away and concentrate on the music and running and the city. She'd found her way down to the Thames, and was running on the paths near it, past youths with skateboards and graffiti'd walls, business men grabbing a bite to eat right outside the Globe. It was astounding the way the culture and history blended together so seamlessly. She'd never get over that.

The light turned green, and on she ran.

C Choose your own! Private starters in the comments.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You can heat it." Microwaves. Modern technology. Shit was crazy.

"Stiles, I have never, in my life, seen a vampire pee." And that was 100% true. She wasn't into that stuff.

"Do you know one we could ask?"

In a complete 180, he no longer seems disgusted by the conversation. In fact, he seems enthusiastic.

"I mean, it's not that offensive of a question, right?"

"Yes." She knew lots of vampires. But she's not giving names. They were the private sorts, generally.

"And it is, truthfully. It's like... You don't ask vampires how old they are." Either physically or mentally. Take for instance, Cooper. Seventeen physically. Over two-hundred mentally. It was just rude.

"You're not going to ask a vampire to let you see them pee."

“Ewww. I don’t want to watch anyone pee, nevermind a vampire. I just want to get my facts straight. For science.”

The “you don’t ask a vampire how old they are” etiquette is news to him. Then again, so is “vampires exist” so he figures his ignorance is to be expected.

She looks at him, deadpan. "But this isn't science."

And she would totally have gotten away with it too, if she hadn't burst into giggles afterwards. "But it isn't! So don't say otherwise." Or maybe it was. The science of magic. Oi.

Dammit, Nancy! Cracking a grin, he bumps her shoulder with his own, acknowledging the play. Juliet has to rearrange herself grumpily from his restless shifting.

"We're going to start the game now, cool? Unless I can sweet talk you into giving me one of your vamp friends' numbers..."

She laughed, bumping him back slightly.

"You can try, but I like to keep their privacy." She didn't give out information about her clients. Even if they were also friends. Sorry, you're not going to meet Cooper through her, Stiles.

"So it's more likely that I'll win this game than I'll give up a number."

Still wearing that helpless grin, he accepts defeat and drops the issue; he isn’t about to harass her for people’s numbers. Once the multiplayer match gets started, he is quick to seek her out…and then messily assassinate her. This is how you let girls know you like them, right?

No it is not.

"Hey!" She scowls at him, wrinkling her nose. The result displays her dimples and she really is a lovely sight. "You're supposed to be helping me, not bloody killing me!" She, meanwhile, had gotten a little lost trying to figure out which screen she was.

Attention focused on the television, he simply affects an innocent look at the accusation.

“I am! This is training. Gotta keep you on your toes, Nance.”

And then he starts humming the Jaws theme while he makes a beeline for her position.

"This is bloody awful training, is what it is," she remarked, not very sure which screen was hers (she was at the top) and that pressing the trigger fired her gun. That made sense. But oh- and then there's jumping and-

"Stiles!" She's just going to shoot at anything that moves right now.

Cackling boyishly, he pauses to watch her screen in amusement; she’s killed half a dozen civilians in her panic. Stiles decides to take pity on her as the guards begin to convene.

“Okay, okay. You’re gonna want to run now. I think the locals have had enough of your gunslinging. Try running up the building there and getting on the roof!”

Nancy shrieks a little as she starts trying to run away from the locals and up on to the roof. This involved some intense jumping.

"My character can't bloody jump for shite!"

"That's because you're pushing down the wrong buttons. Here."

Without thinking, he leans over and slides his hands around hers on the controller to help. Almost immediately, he realizes what he's doing and jerks away as if burned. That was probably way too intimate, right?

"Um. Is...dinner ready?" he asks, voice a little high-pitched.

She processes it all too late to figure out what's happening, other than Stiles... being Stiles.

She's known him for what, two weeks, and already knows when Stiles is just being Stiles-y. (the last time they hung out, he just kept looking down, he st-st-stuttered when she asked him what he's thinkin' bout).

"Bloody- yeah. Hang on. Let me see." And she's on her feet, setting the controller down to take a look. It takes her a moment before she pops her head back. "Yeah- about five minutes, I've got to put the garlic bread in, take the lasagna out. D'you want to help with a salad?" Already the smells were wafting through her apartment.

While Nancy checks on the state of dinner, Stiles and Juliet share an unspoken conversation that mostly involves him groaning into his hands and her headbutting him for pets. By the time the witch returns, he's back to his normal self—or at least, what constitutes normal for Stiles.

"Sure. Can Juliet help too?"

And he's picking her up, flapping her paws at Nancy. Both cat and boy give Nancy an imploring look.

She has to admit, seeing the two of them together is adorable.

"'course she can. Actually, come to think of it, in the cupboard there," she points to one of the lower ones. "I've got her food, if you want to give her some. Bowl's by the door."

"You hungry, Juliet?" he asks the kitty in a disgusting voice people usually reserve for their pets. Clearly, it's been far too long since he owned one. "Do you want your dinner?"

Gently placing the cat down, he slides into the kitchen and goes about setting out Juliet's food. Once that's done, he's peering at the lasagna hungrily. Right, a salad...

"What kind of dressing do you like?"

It's mostly out of curiosity. He's not sure how different her tastes are, having grown up in the UK.

Stiles bonding with her kitten is absolutely perfect and it kind of makes her fall just a little in love with him. In the friend sort of way. You know.

"Thanks," she said with a nod. "Usually I go with some sort of vinaigrette- I'm really simple when it comes to foods, I'm afraid." She never had much money growing up, and as such, hadn't ever gotten a taste for things like lobster or whatever. She liked mac and cheese out of a box and terrible oven meals. And lasagna with a whole lot of cheese. And garlic bread.

"Or if you'd rather forgo the salad and just have extra bread, there's that option, too." She gives him a devious sort of look, before taking a drink.

“Extra bread!”

Cheering, he returns to the living room to retrieve his own beer. This is great—usually, when he shared dinner with his dad back home, he’d have to avoid all things unhealthy so the Sheriff wouldn’t indulge. Now that he doesn’t have to worry about his father, he can pig out like the gluttonous teenage boy he is.

“Unless…I mean, do you prefer salad? We could totally have salad. I make a mean salad.”

"And I bet you're even better at tossing one," Nancy says with a wicked grin. Still smiling, she wraps her lips around the rim of her bottle and sips.

"Extra bread it is."

The noise that escapes his throat then is on a pitch and frequency typically heard only deep within the ocean, among pods of whales. Gaping at Nancy, he tries to think of a clever response but draws a total blank. Honestly, the very idea of it grosses him out, but at the same time, he's weirdly flattered even if she's just making an offhand play on words. Maybe he would be great at tossing salads. Maybe that's like his undiscovered talent.

Slowly, he sits down. Stiles' brain has short circuited. Please try again later.

Nancy let out a bright laugh, setting the bottle down in favor of putting bread in the oven.

"Stiles? You alright?" Oh, he was a virgin, she could tell. Not that she would judge him for such a thing. She'd lost her virginity far, far too young for anyone to have. "Or did I just give you a heart attack?"

“Just a serious case of indigestion,” he eventually responds, with a measure of humor. Shaking himself, he pulls his mind out of the gutter. “You should go wash your hands before dinner. And maybe your mouth too, since you are bad.”

She's laughing again, tossing her hair over her shoulders with a small shake of her head.

"Shush, you're just upset I thought of it first!- I'll stick with beer for mouthwash thank you."

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