I'm pickin up good vibrations (OPEN)

[whatmatters]

It was a fairly bright night, the full moon of the second waning at a slow pace and the remaining glow casting about the city streets. All things considered, it was a fairly pleasant evening and the sounds of late night pub activities wafted through the air as if to pointedly suggest that nothing was amiss. Ringer didn't believe in that false serenity and the sight a couple strolling arm-in-arm somewhere down the road annoyed her a little. It was that ignorance that she was trying to protect. Still, she couldn't help the slight envy at having her own normality stripped away from her years ago.

She wandered Lewisham and Greenwich mainly, knowing the areas were hot spots for activity and wanting to stretch her muscles. There were silver bullets in the magazine of her Sig Sauer, tucked safely away in its shoulder holster beneath her jacket. There were a couple wooden bolts in her back pocket, a knife in her combat boots, and a roll of gauze in the inside pocket of her coat. She liked to be prepared.

A.

Ringer was distracted by the soft glow of a lantern outside a picturesque home as she rounded onto the next street, nearly - or literally - running smack into whoever might be coming the other way. She immediately withdrew and scrambled to regain her bearings, offering an apologetic expression in the hopes it might be some simple Londoner who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. Are you okay?"

B.

There was a noise not far away, the next street over, and Ringer wasted no time in seeking it out. Perhaps it was simply a cat jumping on a trash can, but it was as likely some asshole monster causing trouble. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. Whatever the case, she drew her 9mmm and held it down at her side, mostly concealing it to the casual observer as she came up on the area. One wrong move and the source of the noise might find the barrel facing in their direction.

C.

[Anything else! Feel free to write a prompt or message me with ideas.]

Comments

[whatmatters]

She has no reason to raise her gun towards him, keeping the weapon at her side as she stares on in confusion. A teenage boy with a lacrosse stick doing who knows what in the middle of the night isn't exactly normal. On the other hand, it isn't the strangest thing she's seen either - and that's without including anything supernatural.

"I was-" It surprises her almost as much when he immediately spots the gun. She slides it back into its holster and locks it into place without hesitation. Ringer offers a vaguely apologetic expression, though not particularly heartfelt. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. It's not real. I use it to scare away criminals. I thought you might be one. A criminal."

His attachment to his lacrosse stick is almost endearing, albeit kind of stupid. "American?"

[mensrea]

The attachment to his lacrosse stick is totally stupid, but that doesn’t stop him from holding it to his chest protectively. When she offers an explanation and apology, some of the tension in his limbs unwinds gingerly. It’s way too dark for him to determine if she’s telling the truth, and even then, he’s not exactly an expert on gun models. Still, he’s willing to believe her simply because she’s a young and attractive girl. What can he say? He’s a dumbass teenage boy.

“If you thought I was a criminal, why did you approach me with a fake gun?” he asks, though it’s less accusatory and more incredulous.

[whatmatters]

Ringer's expression evens. She dips her head in acknowledgment of his question, silently admitting that he has a point. Her muscles grow in tension as his begin to loosen and she shifts unconsciously to put her weight more on the balls of her feet. She knows it's stupid to assume every person she runs into might be a threat or one of them, but she's knew enough at this that it's a greater concern to be unprepared for one than to spook the general population. A little fear might do them good.

"What kind of good samaritan would I be if I left whoever you were attacking to fend for themselves?" Her tone is so dry it's impossible to tell if the question is sincere or an attempt at humor.

[mensrea]

Dry or not, the response seems to do it for him; accepting it with a little grin, he glances over his shoulder to peer once more into the dark alley. He points the lacrosse stick in that direction, then shrugs at Ringer.

“Whatever it was, it came from over there. I thought it might be…uh, a criminal too, I guess? I wasn’t sure if I was about to get mugged.”

Or have his blood sucked outta him, but he doesn’t go blurting that out.

[whatmatters]

Ringer looks from the lacrosse stick to the guy, to the darkness beyond, and back again. He's questioning her use of an allegedly fake gun and he's running around with sporting equipment. She moves forward to close some of the distance between them, offering her left hand in greeting in order to keep her right free. "My name's Ringer."

If he's not about to kill her, then there's no harm in making allies. Or acquaintances.

"Maybe the noise was a stray dog." A werewolf. "Or some crazy person." A witch.

"Or a vampire." That one's self-explanatory. Ringer uses the same dry tone, a convenient way to cover how ridiculous she might sound if asking sincerely. Those who have no idea what she means assume she's joking and those that do can take her seriously. Or so she hopes.

[mensrea]

God, he doesn’t get what it is about people in this country and shaking hands. He’s only seventeen, for crying out loud! Who the hell shakes hands with a teenager? But he switches the lacrosse stick to his other hand in order to meet the gesture. It’s a firm, albeit brief squeeze before he’s hurriedly dropping his arm. He’d much rather just do the universally acceptable nod of acknowledgement than something so stiffly formal.

“Oh. Ha ha, yeah.” Gaze sliding askance, he rubs the nape of his neck and thinks about how likely all three of those possibilities are. He’s not sure if this girl is suggesting them to test him, so he rolls with it. “Or maybe a zombie.”

[whatmatters]

"That's normally the part where you say your name," she replies as she withdraws her hand and steps back into her own personal space again.

Ringer, herself, is only nineteen, but she grew up in a private school in Oxford where manners and propriety reigned supreme. It became second nature to her, much like apologizing more than necessary. At his response, the corners of her lips fall into something that might be a frown.

"Maybe." She's disappointed by his oblivious reply, though her belief that he might not be supernatural allows her to focus on the guy as a human being instead. He's not bad looking, a bit goofy, with a strange affinity for lacrosse apparently. Interesting, if nothing else. "It looks like you have it under control, whatever it is."

omfg i totally forgot she introduced herself SORRY FOR THE RE-TAG

[mensrea]

“Only if you promise not to laugh,” he says, rocking back on his heels as he appraises her in the artificial light.

Stiles smiles faintly, a small teasing thing, and tries not to read too much into the downward curl of her mouth. Not even five minutes into meeting this person, and he’s already disappointing them. Story of his life.

“Just call me Stiles. The Under Control guy. That’s me.”

rofl NO WORRIES

[whatmatters]

"Stiles," she echoes. It's obviously a nickname, like her own name, and she can't help but wonder where it came from. It seems too friendly a question to ask and, anyway, she should be investigating that noise if he's not going to. Ideally alone, not wanting to encourage anyone into danger. Ringer runs a hand through her hair, the disappointment already forgotten. "Maybe I'll see you around."

[mensrea]

"Yeah, maybe." The agreement is amiable, but also distracted. "See ya, Ringer."

Except he doesn't move. He's still standing there, lacrosse stick in hand, waiting expectantly for her to leave so he can check out the shapeshifter that had been lurking nearby.

[whatmatters]

Ringer also doesn't move, half expecting him to have turned and left immediately. There's some semblance of normalcy that she almost longs for in their interaction, despite how bad she is at normal. But she has no reasons to linger and, if he's going to stay, she can stay true to her word and leave him to whatever noise it was. It doesn't really seem like it was something supernatural anyway.

"..Okay." She pivots around on the balls of her feet and begins walking away as easily as that, back the way she came, not really sure what else there is to say.