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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The humor is effective, and Stiles rolls his eyes good-naturedly in response. Eventually, the phone is put away in a pocket, signaling wordlessly that he’s moving on from the topic. Then he’s leaning back in his seat, appraising Cooper appraising him. If he notices what the other boy is studying, he doesn’t offer any insight.

“You heading to the school?” he asks, curious. Even though Cooper has told him he’s not a witch, Stiles still associates him with Redbright.

"Fae!?"

Between the eyes, the sharpened canines, and the way he'd growled...Stiles had instinctively assumed werewolf. Thrown off, he reevaluates his assessment of Will.

"He said the world would be better off without your kind, and got really pissed when I asked if he was a witch. Guy has some serious issues going on."

Wow, does he look like some goddamn fucking weeaboo trash to you. Just give it 48 hours for the memory of this encounter to fade and then he’ll be pronouncing the name “Sass-u-key.” Weaving in and out of London’s ever-bustling traffic, he doesn’t answer immediately. He’s going to be a sweaty mess by the time they arrive…wherever the hell they’re going. Ugh.

“Fine. It’s—”

And he slowly pronounces his name.

“Just call me Stiles,” he mutters, embarrassed. “Only my grandparents call me by my real name.”

“…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.

My tongue never gets tied, thank you very much.

[ Lie. ]

And go ahead, check if you want. I routinely delete them, though. So you won’t find anything.

[ Also a lie. ]

Also, can you get out of my phone? I’d rather talk face-to-face.

[ Lie—well, not really. ]

Morning arrives and Stiles is slow to wake. This isn’t unusual, so he doesn’t think much of it until he realizes that there’s a wall against his back. That’s a bit weird; Stiles always sleeps in the middle of the bed. It’s kind of a thing. Grumbling, he rolls over to reposition himself—and falls right to the floor. He’s lucky he didn’t brain himself on the coffee table.

“…What?”

Mouth thick with cotton, he pries open his eyes to stare at his surroundings. He doesn’t immediately place them, so the next twenty seconds are dedicated to him internally panicking. Once he realizes where he is, he hastily climbs to his feet and readjusts his sweatpants. Stiles remembers absolutely nothing. Did he get drunk? Why is he at Nancy’s? What the hell is going on?

“Nance…?”

Uncertain, he trails off in the direction of her bedroom. He’s never been inside, but she’d showed him the layout of her apartment before. When he sees her tousled hair from the rise of her comforter, he guiltily hesitates. In the end, anxiety ushers him on; hopefully she’ll forgive him for waking her up.

“Nance. Nancy.”

Creeping closer, he gently shakes her shoulder.

Someone's calling her name. Groaning, she shifts under Stiles' gaze. "No- Kenz- The old devil can wait." Various reasons she was usually shaken awake.

There's an empty glass of wine by her bed, a mystery novel next to it, her clock. She grumbles again, and tries to turn around, but someone's shaking her. There's another groan as finally she opens her bleary eyes and- Stiles.

Stiles is here. Why is- She closes her eyes for a moment, scrunching her forehead, then opens them again. Right. She'd gone off work early to bring him here. And he was awake. Now she was, too, and he was sitting on her bed and she was in a simple purple nightie. Sometimes she liked feeling pretty when she slept, okay? "G'morning- d'you want tea?"

Because he was American and probably had no idea how to do it right. And it was always tea-time.

"Seriously? That's so rude." And, in Heiji's opinion, completely unwarranted. Then again, there were humans who thought the world would be better off without humankind.

He looked thoughtful. "I wonder if he's one of them outcast fae..."

"Don't you move an inch Stiles Stonovski," Apollo threatens. What was this kid's last name again? Okay, whatever.

He slowly manages to stand up, the cool weather hitting him and making his teeth chatter before he spots the dent in the car. Oh god. Oh no.

This car was a rental.

He doesn't look away from the dent, but he's calculating the payment and plotting Stiles's suffering.

"You're not getting away with this. Pack your bike in the trunk." We are going straight to the dry cleaners AND YOU ARE GOING TO PAY THE FEES.

"Nah. I've got t'see a man about a thing." Being a Baron meant occasionally checking up on the lower-ranked members of the nest. Most of them could be trusted not to sire other vampires or flaunt their kills. The key word there being most. There was always one or two that needed to be checked up on. Cooper prefers to do it in person. It's harder to lie to him when he's looking them right in the eye.

"So are you gonna tell me who knocked you about or do I have to guess?"

"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.

Nothing is ever truly deleted. Not if you know where to look.

[ Well. While that totally wasn't ominously creepy at all, she sounds fractionally less b-movie poltergeist then before. It also happens to be a random factoid she'd been reminded of far too often by a grumpy hacker she used to know. So really, it's just a gift that keeps on giving, and Stiles is unlucky enough to be on the receiving end this year.

The last request gets a moment's thought, but only the one, because-- ]

And no. I tried getting your attention and you walked right through me. The phone thing was the first thing I thought of. [ She's met rocks more magical then you, Stiles. ]

Do you want an honest answer to that question.

"I prefer to call you by your real name, especially since — makes you stand out more." His pronunciation is rough but it's clear he was paying attention, a sign that this is not going to go away anytime soon. He'll remember it forever.

"But Stiles is fine, then. 'Sasuke' is fine for me as well. Now take a left." And it's further up this street before he has him stop outside of what is clearly some kind of government building, swinging his leg over to stand. "I need to post this letter first and I'll be right back." Sasuke pulls a carefully unbent envelope from his bag to indicate what he means before he's approaching the exterior of the building, popping the letter into the mail slot before coming right back.

And sitting back down. "Forward again." Onward, noble steed.

[ A fact that Stiles is also intimately familiar with, and is put off to realize the ghost knows as well. His attention is quickly arrested by her response, however, and then he’s curiously patting the air in front of him as if she were still there. ]

Seriously? How come?

[ Stiles is still relatively new to ghosts, so he’s unaware it has nothing to do with her and everything to do with him. ]

Is it because you’re so new at this? I mean, sorta. It’s just been a few years since you died, right?

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.

Maybe not.

Stiles is highly aware that his name makes him stand out more—only, it’s a type of attention that he would prefer to avoid at all costs. No teenager wants to have a nigh unpronounceable name. At least, no normal teenager. His mother died well before she could impart any sense of pride in the name to Stiles, and though it was an important namesake, he has no intention of going by anything except his nickname.

When Sasuke directs him to the government building, he thinks that his good deed for the day has been completed. No more wasting time or energy feeling vaguely guilty for nearly killing a kid. Glad that’s over. He should have known better. Staring at Sasuke’s retreating back in outraged betrayal, he starts doing some mental math. If he hadn’t hit the other boy…would Sasuke even have had time to do his errands without being late!? This seems like an abuse of Stiles’ impromptu delivery service…

“Oh my god, would it kill you to say please? I’m not a cabbie, dude.”

Even Stiles can tell from that wording that Cooper would prefer he not pry. With a shrug, he swallows down the questions bubbling in his throat, instead focusing on the follow-up. The bruise still hurts, though it’s dulled down a lot in comparison to the day Apollo slugged him. Touching it gingerly, he sighs.

“You’d probably be guessing a while, it’s not like you know much about my social life,” he points out, simply to be evasive.

Stonovski. That’s even worse than the time coach called him Balinski! How the hell could this guy mangle it so badly!? Sullen now, he considers the merits of riding off into the sunset and never returning to London, but ultimately remains. Apollo is a kind of okay dude, and Stiles would maybe feel bad for taking off on him after damaging the car.

Grumbling like the teenage boy he is, he does as told—except, as he’s sliding the bike into the trunk, the handlebars and pedals scratch the paint. Ah. Well. That just happened.

Stiles folds his arms over his chest, head tilted to the side inquisitively.

“That sounds kinda self-explanatory but I’ll bite—what’s an outcast fae?”

The purple nightie might have been admired under different circumstances. As it is, Stiles is too anxious to pay much heed to what Nancy is wearing at the moment. There are deep, dark bruises under his eyes that would suggest insomnia, despite how heavily he apparently slept the night before. Once he’s certain she’s fully awake, he moves away the bed to pace for a few seconds.

“No. Thanks, but—”

He’s perturbed. Stiles doesn’t remember how he got here and blackouts are not an experience he’s accustomed to.

“What am I doing here? What happened?”

"Really?" She's surprised at that, mostly because she's never really considered it. If she'd ever been asked she'd say she probably smells like garbage, but living at the pack headquarters does do wonders for thar kind of thing. It's amazing what a shower can do. She sniffs herself anyway, frowning in confusion.

"What do I smell like?"

[ She can't see his confused patting, but if she could she'd point out how ridiculous it is.

As it is, the audio crackles with static briefly while Aradia shoves a quick burst of frustration back down. How did he even know that. Who even told him? ]

No. I'm getting better at manifesting. And it has nothing to do with my age. [ Which is only a fraction of a lie, and as close as she'll get. Age brings experience, and experience is the part that matters - but she's advanced enough compared to what she's supposed to be, damnit. ] You're just the magical equivalent of a brick. I could slap you and you probably wouldn't notice.

Say 'kid' again like he's not older than you.

He's fully aware that he wouldn't have had time to do this before work without being late, which is why he'd taken the opportunist route and decided that since he now has access to a ride he could do it early as opposed to waiting until after his shift. Genius.

"We don't really call them 'cabs' here. Taxis, really." Sasuke takes a look down at the pedals and actually considers kicking his feet off of them to earn his keep by doing it himself... but he can respect this one boundary for now.

"I show gratitude in the appropriate ways. I can pedal if you'd prefer it. I'm faster than you, probably." Well, there's that humility.

"Well I want tea," she grumbled, sitting up a bit more, but not bothering to move. Rubbing her eyes and forehead before pushing her hair back from her eyes, Nancy rolled her shoulders. Right.

"Sit if you want, I won't bite. It's nothing sinister, I promise and you probably know better than me. I found you wandering, near 2 in the morning. You weren't responding to anything, so I brought you back here, cleaned you up." This is too much too early. At least she hadn't had much to drink besides the wine she'd had after coming home. and before she'd gone out.

"I didn't want you to get hurt, and I didn't know where you lived." So, she kinda kidnapped him. A friendly kidnapping.

Get ready to have some knowledge dropped on you Stiles, I hope you like textwalls.

"Well... you know how fae belong to courts, right? There's the Seelie court, which I belong to, and the Unseelie court, its opposite. All the fae here are part of either one of the courts, and they gotta present themselves as such. Except the outcasts."

He crossed his arms. "Outcast fae are for one reason or other thrown out. That means they don't have any rank, and they can't live in Faery any more. They gotta live in this world, and they're also weakened. It's kinda like bein' excommunicated. I don't know what that fella did to get tossed out, though -- you'd have to get that from him, probably. But in any case, outcasts tend to pose as somethin' they're not to fit in better. Like metahumans."

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OTA; various locations and times

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