undergrounds | 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

"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."

As if it had been a silent cue, Stiles takes a swig from his own beer. He's never been too fond of the taste, but sucks it up when socially obligated.

"I guess there are worse things to use as mouthwash."

Like pee, but he actually manages to not say that out loud. Nancy is going to suspect he has some kind of urine fetish otherwise.

No she is not. She spent a lot of time with young boys. She'd heard everything about pee and poop that they could think of. But if it makes you feel comfortable, Stiles, sure.

"Certainly are. Alright, pull up a chair." She gestured to the chairs at the end of her center island. That was her only table other than the coffee table. "And serve yourself some lasagna. I'll get the bread out and we can feast!"

Doing as instructed, Stiles serves them both a hearty helping of lasagna; he even makes sure Nancy has more on her plate than he does, since she’s the host. He starts to dig in before she’s even sat down and then freezes, mouth stuffed. Wow, he probably should have waited for her. Swallowing, he shoots her a contrite look, puts down his fork, and sits back.

Nancy sees the look and blinks awkwardly at him. What? Table manners and such were not something she was too experienced in. Sliding the tray of garlic bread between them, she finally sat down.

"Alright! Tell me how it is."

"Delicious," he reassures her with zeal, greedily grabbing two slices of garlic bread for himself. "Did you cook a lot for your little brothers?"

"store-bought," she said with a grin as she stabbed at her lasagne. "I'll let you take home the leftovers, if you want."

stiles asks about the boys, and Nancy has to laugh. "so curious! yeah, I did. otherwise it was all pb&j and easy mac. can't have that."

Somehow, the confession only makes the lasagna all the better. He’s all for frozen dinners, and can appreciate that kind of lifestyle.

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m the product of PB&J and Easy Mac! I turned out just fine.”

Debatable.

Nancy pointed at him and made a quizzical face. "...Right," she said slowly, before giggling.

"They're growing boys, I guess." Wait. "Fuck- I never said anything."

Before he can affect mock indignation at her teasing, he’s caught up short by the expletive.

“Is it supposed to be a secret?” he asks, confused.

"Oh! No, no, sorry. I thought I was saying something that could be interpreted as offensive. So nevermind, then." She offers an apologetic smile, and finishes off her first beer.

"Would you like a second?" She gestured to his as she stood up.

At first, he thinks she must mean a second helping; he's already scarfed down the first. Then he realizes what she's pointing at and starts, nodding vigorously.

"Oh, yeah! Thanks."

And then he hurriedly drinks the rest of the bottle in a single swallow. He'll regret that.

Like she could read his mind, she added: "And please, take as much food as you want, Mr. Mac & Cheese." She moves to the fridge and pulls out two new bottles. By the time she's back at the counter, they're both un-capped and she's drinking again.

"Here you are!"

Sputtering at the all-too-appropriate nickname, Stiles hurriedly shoves another helping on his plate to distract himself. Then sneaks more onto Nancy's plate too; a busy witch could probably use the extra calories, right?

"Thanks." Stiles puts the beer down. Then picks it up. Puts it down. Takes a really hefty draw from it.

Stiles is the opposite of subtle. But she says nothing.

"Any time. Drink up, because there's plenty more where that came, and when you go home, it's not exactly legal from what I've heard." Not that she wants him to leave. He was a good friend, even if she'd been less-than-helpful when they'd first met.

"It's not," he agrees with a shrug, "but that doesn't stop anyone."

Teens will be teens, or whatever they say.

"Do you think it makes a difference here? The younger age requirement?"

"Figured as much. I've seen MTV."

So many red solo cups.

Nancy considers this. "I think it does. 'course, I've been drinking a lot longer than I've been legal to."

"In that case. Bottoms up."

Here's to life decisions he will surely regret in the morning. The rest of the night passes in a buzz-pleasant blur for him, but he enjoys himself either way. Even if he keeps forgetting to "help" Nancy become a better gamer by the childish need to kick her character's ass every other round. Eventually, it's high time for him to return home, and he does so happy and warm.

do you fly in the day, darling

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