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

[viduation]

[ a flicker of tension runs through his shoulders at the contact, but for the moment, Derek doesn't shrug it off. brows twisted, mouth set; his expression is guilty when he tilts his head to glance at the hand. it is unwelcome, he thinks, he doesn't want sympathy or pity or comfort, doesn't need it - and yet, he eases marginally under Stiles' steady hand.

well, at least Stiles knows now. this reduces the chance of awkward, painful conversation down the line, so Derek tries to reason. but as the quiet stretches, it grows harder and harder to bear, and Derek is bewildered and lost in the face of gentle, kind, contact. acknowledgement of his loss makes it all the harder to ignore the things he lives with every day; the tightness in his chest, the needle-sharp pain in his throat.

awkwardly, he moves his hand into his jacket - a small move, but enough to shake off Stiles' touch. it serves a greater purpose, however; it's not the greatest of lead-ins, but it'll get them off the topic and besides, it had been Derek's intention in the first place, before he'd spied Stiles wandering down the street. ]

Here. [ he's holding out what looks like an ordinance survey map of the city. if Stiles opens it, he'll find that the different counties have been carefully outlined and labelled with the relevant factions. there are areas shaded with hand-drawn lines, marks made along certain roads and in specific areas, singling out points of importance, of danger, of interest. much of the map's original text has been scrawled over with notes, sometimes from two different hands. ]

It's up to date, [ he says, and there's still a gruffness in his voice that it sounds like he's attempting to plow through. ] For now.

[mensrea]

[ For Derek to even allow this much—chest too tight, Stiles tries not to dwell on the implications. His hand falls aside easily at the movement, fingers flexing in the empty air between them. There’s an expression of mild, curious wonder on his face now; he hadn’t thought himself capable of extending this kind of comfort to someone like Derek Hale. When the folded piece of paper is shoved toward him, he snaps out of his reverie and takes it. Initially, Stiles doesn’t understand what the other man wants him to do. Point out where his grandparents live? ]

Uh…cool.

[ Then he realizes that it has been painstakingly detailed with notes. Fascinated, he all but buries his face into the map. This would be so handy. Like, he doesn’t even know how he’s managed without this for so long. Stiles opens his mouth, about to ask if he can keep the map, and finally understanding dawns. ]

Whoa. Derek…is this for me?

[ Mingled with the audible incredulity in his tone is smug delight, because he already knows the answer. ]

Dude.

[viduation]

[ as he drives, Derek's gaze repeatedly flicks back to the sight of Stiles poring over the map, brow furrowed with a rare sense of trepidation. Derek doesn't exactly offer those around him anything with great frequency, especially not outsiders, and the position he's put himself in is weird enough that all the hairs rise on the back of his neck. he doesn't respond to the question, and it's partially out of embarrassment; the lingering, youthful awkwardness that surrounds what might be considered a kind gesture.

thankfully, Stiles gets the message, as Derek had presumed he would. Derek huffs through his nose, and the sound is warmed by an edge of humour. ]

I don't need it anymore, and you refuse to take a hint, so use it. [ he has no doubt that Stiles will do just that, but saying anything else felt too familiar, too amicable. ]