undergrounds | OTA; various locations and times

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OTA; various locations and times

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: )

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Stiles is slow to respond as the bike begins to pick up momentum. One of the pedals scrapes against the back of his calf before he manages to move both legs out of the way. Hunching forward, he prepares for round two of sour, petty diatribes. This is probably the most unpleasant day he’s had in London so far, including the time a ghost possessed him and then a tiny lawyer socked him. If he bothered to turn those judgments inward, he might realize the reason he’s so bitter—Stiles has discovered the beginnings of a strange, yet unique sense of solidarity with Sasuke. But he doesn’t know what the hell to do with that solidarity, or if he even wants it. Not everyone is worth investing time into.

“Uh.”

Except sometimes, such decisions are out of his hands.

“Dude, I really can’t follow that up with anything comparable. What the hell do you mean, you’ve been poisoned six times!?”

Even with firsthand experience of how aggravating Sasuke is, that’s extreme beyond extremism.

“Yes,” he says, brain on autopilot because he’s still mentally reeling. “I mean—uh, yeah. Cool. That’d be—I’d like that.”

Stiles refuses to ruin the moment by asking if her pack happens to be Derek’s. Right now, he’s content to live in a fantasy world.

She smiles at him again, sliding off her perch on the table and into a chair next to him.

"So, what should I be looking for?" She asks, grabbing the nearest book and pulling it to her. "Stuff about ghosts, right?"

Malia starts leafing through the pages, contemplating.

"How did you find out about us, anyway?"

"Kids do stupid things when they're irritated with one another and I didn't just develop this personality overnight." No, this has been his self-inflicted burden for many, many years.

"It made them want to act against me, so considering how many years I was around a lot of them six times isn't all that many." What a strange fate it should be that today hasn't felt half so unpleasant to him, injured and sore and the new victim of a hit-and-indentured-servitude but somehow in the back of his mind he's aware that it's not gone as badly as it could've.

"What you follow it up with is up to you. You could follow my format; state hobbies and your living situation, your age, that kind of thing. Do you really expect me of all people to teach you how to hold a conversation?"

Depending on what you wanna give up. Nose scrunched up, Stiles rakes a hand through his hair and tries not to think too much on it. He's sure he'll piss off someone enough to send him to an early grave anyway.

"Listen to you! You're such a gossip."

"He didn't let me," Stiles returns with a scoff, a hint of bitterness coloring his tone. "It was his idea. Things back home were getting intense, and it's not like I could explain to him that I was skipping school or getting into fights because of supernatural evildoers. He probably thinks I'm on drugs."

Glaring out the passenger window, he tries not to compare his relationship with his father to Scott's relationship with the man. The Sheriff has already stated multiple times that he trusts his son's best friend more than he trusts his son.

"I guess it's for the best you're married to your work. Maybe it's better that way."

None of this makes sense to him. The idea that the Night Council would trust vampires to police their own… No, there had to be more to the story. Or maybe Cooper doesn’t know what he’s talking about. It’s possible—the guy did look young, after all. Then again… It occurs to Stiles that, despite appearances, Cooper could be hundreds of years old. Goosebumps flare up on his arms.

“Why though? One group only loses control once a month. The other loses control whenever Vitamin Hemo deprived—which probably happens a hell lot more often.”

Stiles is now kneeling on his chair, purely so he can partially lie across the table and peer at the pages Balem pauses on. If he were a dog, no doubt he'd be drooling from eagerness to hear more.

"Some of it? Like what?"

"Oh, c'mon, who am I gonna tell?" I mean, besides absolutely everyone who will listen. He was ready to ruin your life and possibly set Stiles up on a date anytime.

"Besides, you never know. We might know each other!"

Powerlessness is a state of being that Stiles is intimately familiar with. And yet this situation manages to make it worse, so much worse. Because usually it’s a case of him, a human, getting in over his head where the supernatural are concerned. But this? This is the kind of shit that his father deals with. If Fagin weren’t fae, it’d be sickeningly normal. That truth hurts him the most—that even when a scenario is closer to home, so to speak, he still can’t help.

“If things…ever get bad, I want you to know you can count on me.”

Stiles feels sick, saying as much. Count on him for what? What the hell could he do that Nancy couldn’t?

“I’m just… I’m here.”

"Well, let's see," he said, continuing to flip through the book before stopping at one page, "Ah, here we go."

He tapped one long fingernail against an illustration of some pixies.

"Real as you and I, just good at hiding. They're very small, you see."

Nancy pauses for a moment, reaching her hand out to hold Stiles'. Green eyes search for his dark ones and she manages the smallest, saddest of smiles. It's not many people that would say something like that to a girl like her. He didn't even know the full story, but he just seemed so...

Genuine. Worried.

This was what happened when she tried to keep the truth from him...

"Thank you, Stiles," she said finally, giving his hand a soft squeeze. "I won't forget it. Your... everything, it means the world to me. Truly." To prove her point, she leaned over with coffee-and-vodka laced lips and gently kissed his cheek.

"You're a wonderful friend to have. Don't ever forget it."

"Do I need t'spell it out for you, kid? Thought you were smarter than that." Cooper resents the insinuation of losing control whenever there's blood around, mainly for the reason that with him it's mostly true. It's a constant struggle with him to not give into temptation and drain people whenever he feels like it. He tries his best, even if it's not enough some days.

"The Night Council doesn't like werewolves for very personal reasons. It all happened well before I showed up, but rumor is that a werewolf killed some people close to one of the Night Council members. So, because people are petty at the best of times 'n people in power can't ever keep it from ruling their heads, wolves got the wrath of god brought down on their head."

Still staggered from the previous discussion, Stiles doesn’t answer immediately. Which turns out to be helpful when she prompts him with another question. Even though he likes and trusts Malia, he hesitates to explain. Stiles will always be fiercely protective of Scott, despite the other boy hardly needing it.

“My best friend was attacked by a werewolf. It was pretty much a crash course in the supernatural after that.”

Figurative mental brakes have put a firm halt to any and all thought processes. With a frantic, violent flap of his hand, he dismisses the other boy’s request for corresponding personal information. He’s not done talking about this. So not done.

“Okay, did you attend some school designed to specifically train the next generation of serial killers? Because if the answer is no—actually, hold up. If the answer isn’t no, do me a favor. Pretend you never met me, refuse to ever take up a hit targeting me. You can keep my bike in exchange. We’ll call it even.”

Said bike rolls over a sharp bump. Stiles thinks the bike seat may have just performed a prostate exam on him. Cringing, he continues.

“When a child poisons someone else, the adults don’t laugh it off like, ‘oh, kids will be kids!’ No. Instead, they ship that little psychotic freak off for some serious therapy and pray they haven’t been raising the next Ted Bundy under their roof. So stop treating this so lightly! That’s screwed up! Really, really, really screwed up!”

Stiles gives Heiji a look, like he knows exactly what would happen if he told the kitsune. This is one of the times that Heiji's friendly and chatty nature has damned him.

"What, is that supposed to reassure me? If you knew her, you'd totally say something to her. I know you, dude!"

Either this guy is totally off his rocker or right on the money. It’s hard to tell. But, unable to help himself, Stiles responds to the explanation tellingly. A wide, shit-eating grin spreads across his face. There’s nothing mocking about it—if anything, it has a smug nuance to it. After all, he knows from firsthand experience that pixies are indeed the real deal.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, nodding. “And they like gifts.”

"Yeah, and then you'd get to find out what she thinks about you!" He wasn't going to deny it. He knew it was true. BUT WHAT WAS THE PROBLEM, THO.

"I could tell her what a great guy you are, it'd be great!"

Stiles nods once wordlessly, subdued. The soft hand in his is squeezed in return, but he has nothing else to offer. This is a shock, one he barely can process so suddenly and on so little sleep. But he refuses to brush aside what Nancy has told him; no, as soon as he is able, he’s going to do some researching. There’s got to be information on this slimeball somewhere. There’s got to be a way Nancy and the boys can be freed from their indenture. There’s got to be a solution.

“I should get going,” he murmurs, though the last thing he wants to do is leave Nancy now. She shouldn’t be alone. She should have someone with her, to support her. “I’m going to crash hard soon, after last night. But I’ll text you.”

This is hardly the first time someone has questioned his intelligence, and Stiles refuses to take the bait. If there’s only one aspect of his character he can be confident and proud of, it’s his mind. So he shrugs off Cooper’s insult to listen avidly.

“When did you show up?” he pushes, trying to form a timeline of events mentally.

“So basically, you want to be my wingman.”

Squinting, he considers this. Heiji could prove helpful… Or this could end disastrously. But then again, most things in his life end disastrously, so what’s to lose?

“Wait. Do you really think I’m a great guy? Aw, Heiji. You’re gonna make me blush!”

(Yes, he’s stalling, shut up!!)

"Sure! You're smart, loyal, you like animals..." (In more ways than one, maybe.)

"But if you wanna make it real special, I guess I could hang back. I think one-on-one establishes a better mood. If it's serious, of course." Don't mind him, just fishing...

(WATCH IT, MISTER.)

“Nothing’s serious,” he sighs, kicking at the ground. “Trust me, dude. That kiss? Probably the most action I’ll ever get until the day I die and someone tries to resuscitate me. I hope I’m not a hundred years old when that happens, that’d be so gross.”

Stiles on drugs... Apollo nearly snorts at the thought. Stiles had enough energy on his own to not need any drug whatsoever.

"So you got grounded, right out of the country." Sounds about right. "I'm married to my work, sure. But I didn't have parents growing up." It was already weird dropping that bomb, but it seemed to connect with other people somehow.

"I'm an orphan, y'know."

The passenger window is abandoned, Stiles twisting in his seat to fix Apollo with an intent, weighty look. Though the Sheriff may have been perpetually absent due to long work hours, at least he's had opportunities to spend time with his old man. Stiles had been devastated by the loss of his mother; he can't imagine losing both parents. But that's assuming Apollo knew his parents at all.

"You weren't adopted?"

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Page 16 of 19

OTA; various locations and times

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