undergrounds | 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: )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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."

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.

Cooper pauses and ticks the years off on his fingers. After two-hundred of them, time tends to blend together if he's not careful to keep track of it. "'Bout four years ago. I was in America before that. Think that whole deal with the Night Council happened back in the nineties."

"The nineties!? That's like ancient history then!"

Well, ancient to a kid born near the millennium, at least. This definitely deserves more digging, though Stiles thinks he'll need another source to ascertain the truth of what Cooper is claiming.

"Alright. So. You're a vamp. Are we cool, or...?"

"Yes. Back when they were using horses and buggies t'get around." Cooper rolls his eyes. Sometimes, it's just so painfully apparent how young the people around him really are. Teenagers especially. They have all the long-term memory of Golden Retrievers.

"Or what?" He frowns a little. "Do you expect me t'just sneak up on you in a dark alleyway and bite inta your neck? I'm not a monster, thank you very much."

Stiles cocks both brows at Cooper, not sold.

"Dude, the way you get off on werewolf prejudice, you kinda sound like one."

Wrong words, Stiles. He shouldn't let himself get riled up by a werewolf-sympathetic teenager. But Cooper's temper isn't something he has a good handle on at the best of times. Cooper doesn't say anything. He just stands up very slowly and it's like something has gone flat and dead behind his eyes. "You should be glad I gave up on feeding off of people that I know. Because if I hadn't, I'd do this--"

He grabs Stiles with one hand on the back of his neck in an iron grip, holding him there like a dog that's got a rat in its mouth. "--and drag you right off at the next stop, and there wouldn't be a damn thing you could do t'stop me." Indeed, there's not a single person even looking up to see what the two apparent teens are up to.

Frozen in place, Stiles stares up at Cooper with wide, round eyes. Fear roils in his gut, hot and cloying, but this is not the first time he’s been threatened by a member of the supernatural. And it won’t be the last. He sets his jaw, fingers trembling, and settles on a bitter hatred for Cooper.

“Yeah, you’re a winner, alright. I’m beginning to understand why people don’t trust you. It’s not just your word that’s shit, it’s your personality. Get your hand off me, asshole.”

Cooper's fingers tighten for a moment. That's going to leave some bruises. He laughs, a short sound with little real humor in it. "No fear. I was that way once. Better learn this lesson quick, boy." He leans in towards Stiles, close enough that the teen can feel his breath on his face. His fangs come out. "A little fear is good if you want t'survive instead of endin' up dead."

He makes a move as if to bite Stiles. While his teeth do close in around the teen's neck, he doesn't puncture the skin. Tempting as it is, he's not going to push this to the next level. Cooper pulls back and lets go.

Resentment burns in his chest like a fire, but the gaze he fixes Cooper with is sharp and cold. He doesn’t need to be lectured by a vampire on the finer points of fear; Stiles has been living in a perpetual state of dread for years now. People have died. Friends. Family. Time and again, douchebags like Cooper flaunt the power difference dividing humans from the supernatural. Stiles knows fear. Stiles respects fear.

Eyes clamping shut, he waits in tense apprehension for the bite that never comes. Breath fans out over his skin and he shudders, thoughts going to his father. Is that fight going to be the last chance he gets to talk to his old man? God, Scott will probably get himself killed trying to find out what happened. When Cooper draws away, Stiles waits three seconds to gather his nerve.

Then, looking the vampire dead in the eye, he reaches up and yanks on the passenger alarm system. A bright red light flickers into existence over his seat, followed by a droning noise. The train itself is already slowing.

It takes Cooper a moment to understand what has happened. As the train skids to a complete halt, one corner of his mouth quirks up in an smirk purely designed to infuriate whoever is looking at it. "Well, look at that. The boy has a brain and it occasionally works too." This is what he gets for being merciful with people. He should've just taken a bite and then ordered Stiles around for the rest of the night.

A muscle jumps visibly in Stiles’ cheek, his jaw clamped tight so hard that his teeth ache. In the next train compartment, people are beginning to congregate near the windows. Confusion and irritation paint their expressions, though there’s no sign of the conductor just yet. Sweat beading on the nape of his neck, Stiles tries not to fidget. It takes an incredible amount of effort.

“Yeah? Well, if you have a brain, you’ll use this opportunity to take a hike. Or would you rather explain to the Night Council later why you had to slaughter a train of people as a cover up? You made your point, Cooper, so buzz off and leave me alone.”

Stiles has a point. He's pushed the teen as far as he dares to go without things going one step too far. He can't help but put the last word in before taking his leave. "Better get used t'having me around, kid. Considerin' the circles you run in, this isn't the last you're going t'see of me."

Leaving him with that thought in mind, the vampire darts through the people in the apartment until he's at the doors. With only a little bit of effort, Cooper forces the compartment open and disappears into the night air, feeling pleased with himself.

OTA; various locations and times

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