undergrounds | OTA; various locations and times

Entry tags:

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

Right, Sasuke's taking that as his own cue to shove him possibly too roughly, showcasing more strength than he'd intended but still holding back enough to be able to play it off. Damn.

"Then I guess I should be glad that for me that's noteworthy." This is probably a diss.

"I'm fine, I just didn't sleep well. It isn't anything important. Answer my question about your negligence."

Flung carelessly off to the side like a wet sack of potatoes, Stiles very nearly takes out passing pedestrians with his flailing limbs. The bike, caught beneath him, is dragged along for the ride. One of the pedals is jammed between his thighs, dangerously close to his junk; wide-eyed, he slowly climbs to his feet as if dealing with a time-bomb. God Sasuke, do you see how much damage you could have caused, be more gentle.

“Negligence? You’re the one who’s apparently so sleep-deprived that you’re getting in the way of oncoming traffic! I’ll forgive you, but just this once.”

Well excuse me for not knowing my own supernatural strength.

"I didn't get in the way of you so I don't want to be forgiven. You swerved up onto the pavement to cut around a car; did you think I wouldn't notice? You're just a bad--" What. Driver?

"Why aren't you in a car, anyway? I guess it's better this way. You would've killed me otherwise." There's a slight sway to his body language when he pulls himself to his feet but he's successful nonetheless, making a show of checking his phone.

“Shut up, I forgave you already. No take-backs.”

Glaring at Sasuke (damn him for totally noticing how the accident happened), Stiles reaches down to retrieve his bicycle from the ground. The handlebars will need to be adjusted before it can be ridden.

“And dude, do you know how expensive cars are? Why would I buy one in a foreign country when there’s the tube and bike trails?”

Also, Stiles is secretly terrified of the idea of driving on the opposite side of the road. He really would kill someone.

"You can't shut up the truth." Okay, that sounded overly dramatic even to him so give him another moment.

"... I can't fault you for being economical, but you should still be cautious." His hand settles on his own stomach just over a bruise before swiping back over his neck, shaking his head. "Why are you in such a hurry that you can't look around first? Are you lost?"

So overly dramatic—Stiles even shoots Sasuke a dude, seriously? look in unimpressed skepticism. While he does notice, in an absent and distracted manner, the pat down that Sasuke performs on himself, he doesn’t yet suspect the other boy to be injured. He’s fine, so he takes it for granted that the prickly, snarky clerk must be too.

“Nope,” he answers, gaze skittering askance. There’s no way he can tell Sasuke the truth: Stiles was on his way to investigate a ghost haunt. Hedging, he eventually continues, “Hey, c’mere for a sec. I need your help.”

He gestures to the bike’s handlebars.

"I don't trust you." Allow that to be helpfully provided just as a reminder before he indeed moves closer to eye maladjusted metal and plastic.

"... are you too weak to fix it on your own? Let me see your arms."

"Most people don't," he informs Sasuke blithely, apparently unfazed by this. "And you can ogle my guns after you help. Can you grab the front tire?"

Usually, he just straddles the tire with his thighs before twisting the handlebars back into place. Stiles, amazingly, does not request the boy to do the same. Knowing him, it'd come out really weird. Better to save them both that embarrassment.

Sasuke actually stares him down as if expecting that bike to get rammed into his chest the moment he acquiesces, slow to finally bend down and wrap a hand around the tire while the other grips spokes.

"It's not ogling. And I'm only helping under the assumption that you won't be so careless next time. You could've cracked my ribs." Which are purple anyway.

Once the front of the bike is held firmly in place, Stiles wrenches the handlebars back into position. The noise the metal makes is cringe-worthy. Beaming, he gives the godawful, secondhand bicycle a pat on the seat. If only he knew said bike was going to be destroyed by a madman in a truck later that week.

"And you could pull out a knife at any time and shank me. Let's not dwell on the possibilities, dude."

Stiles, that's so not even comparable.

"That's very true. I could."

He could fantasize that--

No, okay, focus, that's not relevant.

"My point still stands either way. And now thanks to this I'm probably going to be late.

Apologize first and then show me your arms as agreed. You deserve to be late too."

Yikes, is it just him or did the temperature drop like 20 degrees?

"I'm sorry you're so slow," Stiles apologizes dryly, because when does he ever make anything simple or easy. "And I'm not going to be late for anything."

But Sasuke helped him out and their first meeting/"last" conversation is still lingering in the back of his mind.

"Where're you going? Hop on. I'll bike you there."

"... You're really avoiding it, huh. Perhaps you have some self-confidence issues." Which he already knows, really, but to highlight it in a serious way would be crueler than this kind of taunting. This can be played off.

"You want us to share this small bike?"

This can definitely be played off, which is exactly what he does—albeit with a slightly soured expression that he doesn’t quite manage to conceal.

“You telling me I have a small bike totally does not help my self-confidence issues. Next you’ll be commenting on my penis size. Rude, really. But either way, I’m not lending it to you. The bike. I’m not lending the bike to you.”

It may be a piece of shit, but it’s his piece of shit.

“So take it or leave it, buddy.”

Saying it's a piece of shit right after that mistake in wordplay really does not help matters.

"I'm not going to comment on your dick because I haven't seen it." There's an implication here that when he does, he will. And he very well might.

"... fine. But I'm not sitting on the handlebars." He still has his dignity.

God, Stiles is not accustomed to dealing with someone so candid and direct. The other boy speaks so nonchalantly that he actually glances down at his crotch in blank surprise, as if surprised to find that Sasuke hasn’t seen said dick. Then he scowls; he hears that implication and he does not like it. Even during lacrosse season, he’s always been particular about keeping his body covered up in the locker room.

“Don’t be so proud.”

Swinging a leg over the seat of his bike, he inches forward to give Sasuke room.

“Ready to tell me where you're going?”

Subsequently Stiles' redirected gaze prompts him to look too, like he might be able to judge him through fabric. No dice.

"I'm not acting any prouder than you are. You're too stubborn to even admit you're at fault after slamming into a pedestrian." The back of the bike was his preference, luckily, and the fact that he's so much slighter in size than his demeanor makes him seem also helps.

"It's easier for me to just direct you. Go forward and take the second right."

And under that scrutiny, Stiles’ thighs squeeze the bicycle seat self-consciously. Life is so unfair. How did he get stuck offering a ride to a guy like this? Next time, Stiles is just going to keep pedaling. No regrets. Until he’s caught. Then arrested. Is he still a juvenile in Europe? Things to look into…

“Or maybe you’re just too easy to mess with.” Not that Stiles is actually having any luck, y’know, in said attempts to mess with Sasuke. He needs to pick his battles better. “I’m sorry for hitting you. Happy now?”

The apology comes easy, honestly; Stiles really doesn’t care one way or another, he just enjoys being difficult. With a mutter, Stiles checks to see that Sasuke is settled before pushing off—it soon turns out, giving the other boy a ride is even more taxing than Rize. Figures.

To his credit Sasuke actually does consider the question.

"No, not really. But I wouldn't say you're chiefly responsible for that." What an amazing reassurance.

"Maybe with the ride I'll get there on time, so it's beneficial." He wonders if he should tell Stiles that he has two stops he needs to make and decides against it. Even he knows when he's pushing his luck.

"... how do you pronounce your name?"

Why must you keep doing this to him, Sasuke. Every friggin’ time, like clockwork. The timing is almost suspicious. Because whenever Stiles reaches his limit and decides that the other boy is too much a pain to bother with, Sasuke has to go and say something uncomfortably tragic. This is bullshit. Such bullshit. If only Scott were here—then Stiles could just foist the task of befriending the clerk on the werewolf. It could be a game of hot potato.

“If you tell me how to pronounce yours, I’ll tell you how to pronounce mine,” he says, partly because he can barely remember what the name tag had said and party because he honestly couldn’t sound it out. “It’s Polish.”

Maybe it's just because you keep asking questions that inspire his straightforwardly blunt and upsetting answers.

"I knew it was. There are too many 'k's for it to be anything else." 'K's. 'Z's. 'Y's. Polish has a certain way of identifying itself. "My name is Uchiha Sasuke, Sasuke Uchiha in Western order. It's Japanese and not too difficult to pronounce. Now you."

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.”

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.

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.”

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

1/2

2/2

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject