undergrounds | OTA; various locations and times

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OTA; various locations and times

A) You know when you’re drowning you don’t actually inhale until right before you black out.

There is a bear. There is a bear chasing a screeching human boy. There is a bear chasing a screeching human boy who is hurtling toward you at Mach 5. This is happening. This is actually happening. 2AM in London is a strange time.

B) It’s like no matter how much you’re freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won’t open your mouth until you feel like your head’s exploding.

( PRE August 8 )

Located in downtown Sutton, there is a string of terraced properties. One of said properties happens to belong to Stiles’ grandparents, both of whom immigrated from Poland decades ago. This is where the American teen has been staying for the past three months, though the trip is due to end in only a few days. Soon, he’s expected to return home to Beacon Hills, to high school and feigned normalcy and the only friend he ever knew before London.

The hour is late. Stiles sits in an open windowsill of his makeshift, temporary attic bedroom. There’s a lacrosse ball in his hand, which he tosses up and down while gazing sightlessly up at the sky. Maybe he drops the ball, only for it to roll over to you on the sidewalk or street. Maybe you know him personally and decide to call up to Stiles. Maybe a print-out of his flight itinerary flutters to the ground. Maybe the window is empty yet open, and you pay him a visit by climbing the nearby tree.

He could probably use the company tonight.

C) Then when you finally do let it in, that’s when it stops hurting.

( POST August 9 )

The days blur by after August 9th for Stiles. Sherriff Stilinski is beyond furious that his underage son refuses to return home, and has threatened to get a court order. In response, Stiles has threatened to vanish without further contact. Shockingly, this did not instill his dad with the confidence that Stiles is mature enough to live alone in a foreign country. But the damage has been done; as a dual citizen of the United States and Poland, Stiles has all the rights in the United Kingdom of an EEA resident. Unless his health or safety is compromised, there’s little the Sheriff can do. During a somber Skype call, Scott told him that the Sheriff even contacted Rafael—Scott’s absentee father in the FBI. Stiles is worried, is sick to his stomach at the thought of how much this must hurt his dad, of how emotionally taxing the ordeal must be for the overworked man. If anything happened to the Sheriff because of this…

Diligently he researches the steps for settling in the country for the long term, pays an extraordinary amount of money he doesn’t have to submit forms and paperwork. Fortunately, he qualifies to reside in the EU for an extended period because he’s working for Apollo. Small mercies.

Stiles can be found in libraries, police stations, governmental buildings, and cafés. You’ll likely find him poring over documents, scrambling to fill them out and organize them in cheap, manila folders.

D) It’s not scary anymore, it’s… it’s actually kind of peaceful.

( POST August 12 )

Spring heralded the arrival of Stiles Stilinski in London. Then, he had expected to remain in the United Kingdom only through summer before returning to California for his senior year of high school. Now, he has made concrete plans to settle here in the Underground by becoming a member of the East End Pack and eschewing a high school diploma. The decision to stay had not come easily—and the cost of that decision will likely haunt him for years to come. But Stiles is determined to put aside his dread and doubt. Dogs can smell fear, after all.

And Stiles is currently walking seven of them. Dogs, that is. Honestly, it’s more like they’re walking him.

See, the thing is…werewolves? Not particularly quick to put their trust in some skinny, fidgety human who dared break into their den. Derek may have brought him into the fold, but Stiles knows it’ll take more than an alpha’s word to soothe the pack’s ruffled feathers—er, fur. Gaining respect in East End, however, has proven troublesome. No one is willing to bring him along for territory patrols because he’s such a liability. In fact, no one is willing to give him any responsibility at all because he’s such a liability. It totally sucks, though he supposes he can understand the reasoning. Still, he’ll need to integrate somehow. What better way is there to worm into someone’s heart than to help take care of their dog?

Abbott Mill has many dogs. Like, a stupid amount of dogs. Since werewolves have a natural affinity and influence over canines, they make excellent guardians of pack territory. The choice breeds are fairly predictable: German Shepherd, Rottweiler, Doberman Pinscher, Great Dane, Tosa… There’s even a breed that’s illegal in the country without a license, which is tucked in the back of Stiles’ pocket. Of all these large and powerful breeds, it is unsurprisingly the tiniest dog that poses the most problems—a goddamn Shih Tzu, the beloved pet of East End Pack’s biggest, burliest member. This dog was sent to Earth from the bowels of hell itself, born with a mission to personally drive Stiles to insanity. He thinks it’s some kind of Napoleon complex, really. Or maybe it’s the name. Boo-boo, the Shih Tzu in question, turns to look at him with black, beady eyes as if aware of his thoughts. Then the dog lifts a leg and pees on an old woman’s foot. All while staring at him.

You can find Stiles “walking” these dogs in any of London’s eastern boroughs. The dogs have as much respect for the human as their owners do, which is to say they’re yanking him along like he’s a flesh-and-blood toy slinky. If you’re a vampire, you may want to keep your distance. These hounds can easily tear their leashes out of Stiles’ hands if they catch a whiff of the undead.

( If you prefer brackets over prose, I’ll follow suit! PM me if you’d like to plot out a specific starter for your character! c: )

Threaded | Flat

Few people in the world knew just as much as Nancy did that 2 AM on the London Streets was a very, very strange time.

Having just finished up with a client, Nancy's planning on getting to the nearest bus stop, and making the trip back to Bexley. The bus wasn't due to arrive for some time, she saw, when she arrived at the stop. Carefully, she leaned up against the metal bar, and began to look through her cell when she heard someone screaming.

Oh, hey, she knew that scream. That scream was-

"STILES!"

Enter, pursued by a bear.

It's late when Maera begins to head home after a long day of relaying messages back and forth. And of course, she's found herself in Circle Daybreak territory. There's really nothing more irritating than have to walk all the way through a borough to get somewhere private where she can open a door to the Other Realm.

Her impolite internal monologue, directed towards stupid witches and the stupid Night Council, is abruptly interrupted by a ball that rolls across the street in front of her. It's almost instinct to chase after it and pick it up, looking around for who might have dropped it.

Once she spots Stiles' window open, she comes closer, craning her neck to look up at him. "Excuse me, sir, is this ball yours?"

Mab had been making her way southward through Newham on her way to Lewisham. It was better to open the gate in a fae or wolf territory than try it in the others. Less bother overall. So she was making her way down the street, heels clicking like metronomes on the sidewalk when the dogwalker came around a corner.

Dogs can be unpredictable with fae. They have an innate sense of danger and some of them started quivering and growling low in their bellies. But others sensed something far more dominant than they and there was some whining and ducking of heads. The little one didn't seem to have the same sense of self preservation the others had though because he was still cockily looking back at Stiles and trotting around peeing on things.

Mab paused, her steps stopping for the moment as she stared down at the little dog coming her way, ballsy as you please not even paying attention to what he was marking. There are some things you don't even pretend you're going to pee on. Mab was one of them. The Shih Tzu had long white hair like hers but caught up in one of those little barrettes on it's head. Mab watched it approach, the walker clearly out of his element and snapped her fingers once. Her voice cracked like ice. "Sit." Anyone who could remotely feel power would have felt it roll out of Mab at that point as every dog on a leash and one down the road sat.

It was better than freezing the little brat solid. Probably. Less fulfilling though. The Shih Tzu sat but it quivered for a moment and let out a tiny yip of defiance that Mab quelled with a glare. After she was convinced the dog was going to behave she looked up at the walker, finally.

There's yelling come from the dead room in the back of this police station, snippets of the conversation passing into the main lobby. Or at least one side of the conversation: a decidedly angry, definitely American voice, carrying on without an ounce of self-consciousness.

"It wasn't a goddamn heart-attack! Any fool can see it! It was deliberate attack-- just look at the wound on the man's head! That ain't just a knock to the noggin', that's a burn. The entry point for the electricity that stopped his heart."

There's several beats of quiet, before the door opens with a bang.

"There's no workin' with a simpleton," Jackson curses out, slamming the door shut even louder. He doesn't stop to pause, as he storms out from the medical examiner's office, through the station, into the front lobby, where he slams right into Stiles.

"A kid shouldn't be wanderin' around a station unsupervised."

Like he really cares, but Stiles is currently the target of his anger. Annoyance is pouring off of him in palpable waves, as he casts a frustrated glance at the youth.

Huh.

Eames has seen a lot of weird shit in his time - London is very much the kind of city that attracts the bizarre - but this? This is new. He feels like he should do something. Lend a hand or join the boy in running, maybe, but this whole thing is so odd. Bears have been extinct in England since before his time, (or so he thought, apparently,) so seeing one chasing some kid down the street... Well, Eames'd ask what he did to earn this kind of bad luck if he wasn't so busy running and screeching. Right now seems like a bad time, maybe later.

He doesn't actually move though. In fact Eames is astoundingly chill considering the current circumstances.

It isn't like she's stalking him. Regardless of form, Malia's favorite past time is still to wander the streets at night, sometimes through the more residential areas. They were less dangerous than downtown London, at any rate.

It's just that tonight she'd caught the edge of his scent downtown, and out of curiosity, she followed it. Malia pauses every now and then to sniff the air, changing course when the trail dictates her do so.

She finds herself standing outside the garden wall of a house. There's a figure sitting up in a window, and Malia knows who it is without even really looking; his scent is concentrated here, wafting down from the window on the breeze. Stiles looks preoccupied, and since it's late, she doesn't want to risk someone waking up and chasing her off (old fears die hard, even when you're in a human body), so she does the next best thing.

Malia's head pops over the windowsill where Stiles is sitting, followed by her arms, hoisting herself up onto it. She's balanced precariously between the window and the nearby tree branch, but she doesn't look terribly concerned.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

Arthur's in Redbridge today, taking his trip from the office building he just left to the train at a bit more of a casual pace than he usually would. He's just finished up with a client - his day job is boring but lucrative, so he only has to take jobs once in a while to keep himself afloat. Today marks the start of at least a week or two off from crunching numbers, so there's a bounce in his step that can only be explained by the paycheque that's been transferred into his account.

At some point on this journey is when he crosses paths with the dogs. There's a pack of them, too many to count at a glance, all tethered to one young man who looks as though he's barely hanging on. Arthur's distracted at first, trying to determine how to get around these dogs without walking into oncoming traffic, but when he finally looks up he starts to laugh.

It's been a couple weeks since the bookstore. He has no clue what happened after he went in and told the clerk to call the cops if the kid showed up again, and he never bothered to follow up, but this seems like punishment enough. He looks flustered, and it's an expression that Arthur likes to see a lot more than the cocky attitude he saw on their first meeting.

He stops short, standing up straight and slipping his hands into his pockets, not worrying about the dogs around him. "Life of crime not work out as well as you'd hoped?"

Kenzi has been visiting the library more and more frequently since she raided that dead girl's house. She really wants to find that book, and so far she's come up with nothing but random clues as to what it might be. Each one making it sound more amazing than the last.

She's just about to leave for the day when she spots Stile's familiar head of ridiculous hair. Having been cooped up for most of the day, she's craving some social interaction. And maybe some mischief.

She attempts to scare him as quietly as she can, not wanting quite yet to be Public Enemy Number One against librarians. They took things much too seriously. Kenzi quietly smacks her hands against the table Stiles is currently preoccupied at and grins.

"What's up nerd?"

Didn't you miss her?

Edited 2015-08-12 20:16 (UTC)

Threaded | Flat

CLOSED; Sasuke (July 23)

CLOSED; Derek (July 30)

CLOSED; Heiji (August 2)

CLOSED; Derek (August 9)

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B)

D

C.

A

B

D

C