OTA; various locations and times

[mensrea]

A) One’s An Incident

“—listen to me!”

Somewhere near you, whether it’s at the park or on the sidewalk or in the café or riding the tube, there is a young man engaged in a heated conversation. The identity of the person he’s arguing with may not be readily obvious to those without supernatural hearing; the discussion is taking place over the phone. Should you attempt to tune Stiles out, it’ll quickly prove fruitless. His voice rises in volume the longer he’s on the call.

“I’m telling you, it’s fine. …No! I’m not sending you a picture of it. There’s nothing to see! …No. …No. It was just an accident, okay!?”

Distractedly, Stiles turns in your direction. There is an ugly, swollen bruise taking up half his face, clearly the work of someone’s fist. You may be able to infer that this is what the fight is about.

“—oh my god, don’t. You were the one who shipped me off here. You don’t get to pull that card on me, not now. …Dad. …Dad. Would you— …Would you just TRUST me for once!?”

Whatever his father responds with, it elicits an immediate reaction from Stiles. Expression twisting miserably, he seems to lose all energy for continuing the exchange. His voice is wooden, weary.

“Fine. I gotta go. …Yeah, I will. …Alright. Love you too.”

The call ends. Maybe you make eye contact with Stiles awkwardly. Maybe you decide to talk to him. Maybe you try to pretend you hadn’t overheard.

“Sorry about that,” he says to you, light and cheery. His smile is tight. “You know how it is. My old man always has to get his say in.”

B) Two’s A Coincidence

If you venture to the library, you’ll likely find Stiles buried nose-deep in an oversized tome. He’s piled high a wall of literature around him, to the point where it might be difficult to see him from the front. The titles of the books? All on mythology and mythical creatures. On occasion, a particularly interesting passage has him muttering under his breath and jotting down a few notes in his journal. Feel free to pull up a chair and harass him; he could use a break.

C) Three’s A Pattern

Guess who just drove his shitty used bicycle into you or your vehicle? This guy. Eyes wide, he hastily stammers out an apology, then loses his balance. Both bike and boy crash to the ground in a mess of whizzing gears and muffled groans. Maybe he took you down with him.

D) Four’s A Warrant

Night in London isn’t kind to humans—not that that’s ever stopped Stiles from exploring the city at inappropriate hours. However, there’s something different about the young man tonight as he wanders the streets aimlessly. For one, he’s clad only in a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt with no shoes in sight. He doesn’t even have his trusty lacrosse stick on him! If you get close, you’ll see the unfocused, glassy fog to his eyes. Hopefully your intentions are well-meaning. Or maybe you’re looking for an easy snack. Either way, Stiles doesn’t seem to be in a position to argue.

( 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: )

Comments

A

[detectiveofthewest]

Heiji gave Stiles a friendly slap on the back; he hadn't been expecting to run into someone he knew on his brief jaunt to the park, but hey. He certainly had gotten an earful.

"Aww, don't sweat it! My old man's the same way. I ever tell you he's the one that sent me out here?"

[mensrea]

With a faint "oof" in response to that hearty back-clap, Stiles straightens and shoots Heiji a curious look before shaking his head in the negative. As far as distractions go, this is an effective one; Stiles can never turn down an opportunity to learn more about others.

"Nope. How come?"

[detectiveofthewest]

"I dunno, he's always sayin' I'm a disgrace." Well, that was delivered cheerfully. "Sayin' I'm too young for this and that, that I ain't ready for whatever pops up. Punched me pretty hard one time at a crime scene."

H...a... ha ha...

d

[stauncherhearted]

"Stiles?" this was the last place Stiles should be, at this time of night. it had to be him, even from the other end of the street she knew it was him. bidding adieu to the man she'd been speaking with, she hurried closer to him, as fast as her heels would let her.

when Nancy drew close, she noticed the sweats. and she noticed the lack of shoes. "Stiles?" she called again, worry ringing her voice. "what are you doing out here? it's almost 2-- where are your shoes?" this wasn't good. and neither was the fact that he didn't seem to be focusing on her. frowning, she placed a hand cautiously on his arm.

"Stiles?"

[mensrea]

The touch is not acknowledged, but it does manage to get Stiles to stop walking. Swaying on his feet, he stares off into the distance blankly for a moment. Then, with a small sigh, he mumbles something unintelligible under his breath.

c

[crystalmethod]

No. No, Stiles does not take anyone with him. He crashes into this thing and barely leaves a scratch.

Trevor's in the middle of a hangover, and he barely even hears Stiles' apology - or maybe he doesn't care. Either way, he slams a hand on the horn and honks it. Keeps honking. Just this loud, endless drone blasting out at this stupid child who had the audacity to crash into him. Half-holding his head, he shouts some kind of swear at Stiles but it's not even audible over the noise.

[mensrea]

Well, that horn is certainly effective at getting said stupid child off his ass and back onto his feet. Stumbling in disorientation, he takes a moment to regain some equilibrium before staring at the driver incredulously. He holds up a hand as if to signal that he just needs a moment to grab his bike and move, but the honking does...not...stop... Stiles thinks he may go permanently deaf.

"Alright, alright, alright, alright," he shrieks, slamming both hands down on the hood of the ugly truck. His father would have cuffed him; the Sheriff has warned Stiles many a time about provoking drivers with road rage. "Knock it off!"

C

[eyeforaneye]

Why hadn't he been a little faster. He already feels like death warmed over -- in so many ways, and he's on foot -- and this is not a good start to his day.

No, actually, just allow him to lie here on the ground for a minute and stare up at the sky, hearing that all too familiar voice.

"... I hate you."

[mensrea]

"Don't be so dramatic," he grouses from where he too is splayed out on the ground, partially on the bicycle and partially on Sasuke. "When you say things like that, I want less and less to be friends with you."

b

[tippytoes]

She's walking past the library when she catches the trail, a familiar scent of humansugarother that she associates with only one person, and she stops, crossing her arms and looking up at the building, debating.

She ends up going inside, following the trail to a massive stack of books on a table, and she hears him muttering before she sees him, coming to stand just outside of his peripheral vision. Malia taps her fingers on her bicep, and then bends down over his shoulder, looking at the book he's reading.

"What're you reading?"

[mensrea]

“Oh my GOD.”

The book goes flying, possibly the first literary astronaut of our time, before it is stopped by the ceiling above and crashes back down onto his head. Such is his life. Clutching his skull, he turns to stare wide-eyed and slack-faced at Malia.

“What are you,” he hisses, voice lowered carefully, “some kind of coyote ninja!?”

CLOSED; Aradia

[mensrea]

[ This is the location, though he has become more and more anxious about the visit since boarding the tube to travel here. Glancing down at his journal, he rereads the notes that he's gathered on a potential spirit occupying the apartment building just ahead. He's not sure what he'll do if he's possessed (again), though he's created a fail-safe for that...just in case. Scott did NOT appreciate being told to text him later asking for a secret code word, but it's the only way he can make sure someone knows if...things...go horribly awry. He's totally just stalling for time now. ]

Hellooo, [ he mutters under his breath, creeping closer to the building. ] Here ghostie, ghostie, ghostie... I come in peace...

[megidoomed]

[ Even though she's not locked solely to her Haunt these days, Aradia still likes returning there when she can. It's soothing, a reminder of better days, and coated in enough echoes of her presence that it helps balance out her more... extreme fluctuations.

It's also full of things she doesn't have to feel bad about breaking, but that's a different story.

She was creeping on one of her old neighbours getting their mail - bills, bills, ad, bills - when Stiles rocked up, which... was a bit unsettling. Two strangers ghost-hunting in her apartment in the same week is unusual. Though at least this one outright says he's coming in peace. ]

Oh dear. [ She's not even sure if he can hear her. We've really got to look into stashing a phone out here.

The neighbour, meanwhile, rolls his eyes at Stiles and walks inside grumbling about bloody tourists. Guess he heard the accent, then. ]

C

[vengefulyears]

Well, it's not everyday that some guy on a bike randomly crashes into your car while you're trying to merge back into the flow of traffic from a street parking spot. Clive's equally wide eyes meet with Stiles's until the boy and his bike go crashing into the ground. Letting out a long sigh and mumbling an "Oh boy" under his breath, Clive straightens out his car to prevent further collisions from happening and puts it in park so he can go check up on the boy.

And so the tiny driver who barely looks old enough to be driving in the first place steps out of his car and stands over Stiles, looking down at him with concern.

"Sir, are you all right?"

[mensrea]

This has not been a good week. Stiles is tempted to remain on the ground forever until the car he hit runs him over and puts him out of his misery. Thoughtful, he eyes the tires of the car. Except that he’s abruptly reminded of that scene in The Temple of Doom where Indiana Jones’ foe is pulled into a machine and crushed to death. Wow, he so does not want to be a red stain on the pavement. Stomach churning, he scrambles to his feet just as the driver checks on him.

“Oh my god, I don’t want to be human-paste-roadkill—jeez, you’re small.”

Hello, Clive. Stiles is just fine.

A

[emotioneater]

Cooper doesn't bother to hide the fact he's listening to what sounds like a personal conversation while riding on the tube. If Stiles really didn't want him to listen, he reasons, he'd either lower his voice or tell Cooper to fuck off. Since he does neither, the vampire sits with his chin propped up under his right hand. When Stiles hangs up, he shrugs his thin shoulders.

"Worry is a thin veneer to cover love," he says with a wise, old air. He's not spent the better part of two hundred years observing the way people interact not to get an understanding of how families work.

[mensrea]

Well said. With a nod, Stiles puts aside the vestiges of sullen frustration that cling to his mood. He knows Cooper is right, of course; while Stiles has been understandably hurt by his father’s actions, he also understands intimately that the Sheriff has done everything with Stiles’ wellbeing in mind. Fiddling with the phone unconsciously, he studies the other boy in silence for a few beats.

“You sound like you’re quoting someone,” he remarks eventually, mouth quirked upward.

C

[apolly]

CRASH— oh you're going to get it.

Apollo owns new car so the bike hits him head on and he lands in the muddy puddle large enough to fit a man of his size. All 165cm of him.

He doesn't register what happened before he sits up, looking down at his soaked clothes in shock until his eyes land on Stiles.

Oh my GOD.

"... Stiles." The anger is slowly making him shake, ready to explode.

[mensrea]

“…Apollo.”

Stiles is making wide-innocent-doe eyes at the disgruntled (understatement) lawyer and then at the brand spankin’ new car, which now has an impressive dent in it. Slowly, he begins to walk his bike backwards. His life is flashing behind his eyes.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again, you look pretty busy, better get a change of clothes, wouldn’t want to catch a cold, too bad about the car, remember that time we saved each other’s life in that haunted mansion, good times, okay bye!”

You know he dead.

B

[entitles]

"An interesting choice of reading material," Balem said, pulling up a chair across the table. Tucked underneath his arm was a large book on astrophysics.

Of course, Stiles could just be a student researching for a thesis or something of that sort, but it wasn't common to see someone so interested in mythology these days.

[mensrea]

Stiles could be a student, except the desperate, frantic manner in which he fumbles the book suggests guilt or fear of discovery. In fact, he’s so startled by the stranger’s interest that he nearly knocks his own chair over. Nervous energy rolls off him in waves.

“Pffft, no?”

Okay, as far as convincing responses go, that one sucked. Hardcore. Also, what is up with this guy? He’s like, weirdly pretty. Not even in a model-handsome way that Jackson could be, if he weren’t such an asshole. This man is almost ethereal.

“Though okay, maybe it is in comparison,” he continues, with a pointed look at Balem’s book. SHOTS FIRED, and Stiles wasn’t even trying to be a little shit.

C; Blame Skull for this oh my god

[alethiological]

Did that just happen?

That just happened.




Oh God why.

he's at a stop light why is this happening he just lost the deposit at least the kid isn't dead who even was it does it even matter no it doesn't he just lost the deposit the sound isn't whizzing gears and muffled groans that narrative is totally false the sound is actually that moment of unfathomable despair that comes with hearing five hundred dollars vanish into thin air deep breath calm down the kid isn't dead he was just apologizing stupid stupid teenager they're alive it could be worse it's not a lawsuit he just lost the deposit-

Stiles sees this silent monologue flash by the instant he stutters his apology, written on the expression given to the horror of watching your house burn down. Or your family being murdered. Or seeing the exact moment your credit score tanks because of an inattentive dumbass.

Five hundred dollars.

It's not even registered that it's Stiles, because Will just buries his head in his hands and devolves into the trashiest Massachusetts accent, "What kind a spazz're you t'be crashin int' stopped cars?! T'hell's wrong with you!"

Congratulations Stiles, you earned Legitimate Feelings out of the furniture.

i blame u both tbqh

[mensrea]

This is Stiles’ second secondhand bicycle since arriving in London. The first was brutally pulverized into a mangled heap of metal and plastic by Trevor’s whimsy. So when Stiles realizes that he’s crashed into another car, his first thought is “NOT THIS TIME YOU MONSTER.” Which is why he’s managed to drag the bike up onto the hood of the driver’s car. Can’t run it down now can you. When he realizes who the victim/potential bike murderer is, however, the blood in his veins goes cold as ice.

“Is the guy who threw me into a coat closet really asking me that!?” he demands in return, trying to get the car’s windshield wiper unstuck from his bike’s tire. “And you stopped so suddenly! You should pay more attention!”

D.

[viduation]

[ sometimes, even when the den is quiet, Derek feels confined by the people there. his grief is not so palpable now that he resents their presence in his periphery, not these days, but sometimes it's enough to trigger in him the urge to go, a quiet fight or flight that shouldn't be and yet is, irrevocably. so, Derek drives.

most of the time, it's aimless, directionless, just for the sake of clearing his head. tonight, he drives to Sutton. it's a move he recognizes as largely pointless; he doesn't have any real plan even if he knows why he's here, who he's here for.

Derek is expecting it to come to nothing. subsequently, it's a bit of a shock when he drives past Stiles. the immediate, reflexive thought of it can't be is quickly overridden by sense, however - a werewolf can always trust his nose, and he knows Stiles' scent well by now.

well, now's as good a time as any, he supposes, sighing, because despite intent he's not relishing the idea of conversation. Stiles is too prying, too clever. but Derek has already made his mind up, and so when he reaches the end of the street he doubles back. it's on this second approach that he notices something is wrong. badly wrong. unthinking, Derek pulls into park and gets out, striding around the car to the pavement. ]

Stiles.

[ firm and terse, because he's honestly a little rattled by the blank, unfocused gaze he's seeing from usually sharp eyes. Stiles continues shambling towards him, which is weird enough in itself - Stiles only seems to dare approach him when he's angry - and then he walks right by him. Derek is reduced to staring after him in surprise before he catches up and steps around him again. ]

Stiles.

[mensrea]

[ When the sleek, sexy camaro doubles back, up the street, the headlights have no effect on Stiles’ eyes except to shrink his pupils. He doesn’t blink, he doesn’t squint, he doesn’t visibly react. Feet padding quietly on the pavement, he brushes past Derek as if the other man hadn’t spoken, as if he wasn’t even there. When the werewolf steps in front of him a second time, Stiles hesitates before attempting to move around the obstacle. His heartbeat, should Derek listen to the sound, is slow and steady—perhaps too slow for someone actively wandering the streets of London.

Stiles trips over a curb while trying to go around Derek; if he’s not caught, he’s going to faceplant hard into the concrete. ]