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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Well said. With a nod, Stiles puts aside the vestiges of sullen frustration that cling to his mood. He knows Cooper is right, of course; while Stiles has been understandably hurt by his father’s actions, he also understands intimately that the Sheriff has done everything with Stiles’ wellbeing in mind. Fiddling with the phone unconsciously, he studies the other boy in silence for a few beats.

“You sound like you’re quoting someone,” he remarks eventually, mouth quirked upward.

"It's an old Irish saying that I made up about fifteen seconds ago." Cooper winks at Stiles in an attempt to lighten up the mood. There's advantages and disadvantages no matter what type of creature one has ended up as in this crazy, mixed-up world. Having parents can suck some of the time, especially for a normal teenage boy, but it's better than outliving them and the rest of his family like Cooper has. He studies the mark on Stiles' face, wondering who had decided to use the boy as a punching bag.

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.

"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?"

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.

Cooper raises an eyebrow that seems to say he can read Stiles like a book. He leans forward, elbows propped on his knees. "It's filled with like-minded nerds and supernatural creatures that can tear you apart, I imagine. That narrows down the possibilities considerably." If he couldn't recognize Cooper as a vampire, who knows what other beasties were hanging around the twitchy teen.

“Hey!”

Taking mock offense to the like-minded nerds bit (regardless of how true), he glares weakly at Cooper. He’d like everyone to know that he hasn’t played World of Warcraft in about sixteen months. So how’s that for nerdy, eh? He’s like a recovering addict.

“Let’s just say that I wasn’t myself,” he says finally, huffing. “A guy I know socked me to help. I think.”

Who knows with Apollo. Maybe the lawyer just really enjoys punching teenagers.

Nope. Stiles is a nerd with nerd credentials and a membership card. Nothing will convince Cooper otherwise. He frowns a little at a description of how Stiles ended up getting punched. Still, the kid seems to be fine minus one gnarly looking bruise.

"Hope you punched him back. It's what I woulda done." Not the most sound advice in the world.

“Nah. He didn’t deserve it. Maybe next time, though.”

Shrugging, he takes a moment to appraise Cooper.

Then, he asks, “Think it makes me look cool?”

"No." Cooper sits back in his seat. If Stiles is hoping for any sort of sugarcoating here, he's plain out of luck. "I think it makes you look like a punchin' bag."

Cooper, for all his eating habits, has an interesting relationship with violence. Oh sure, the occasional asshole who needs to be taken down a peg or the bar brawls he gets sucked into helped to keep him from getting too much out of practice, but he finds for the most part there's very little real joy in the matters. The guilt that usually rises up afterwards is also a kicker.

“Dude!” he protests, affronted.

Twisting around, he squints at his reflection in the window to try and assess the damage. It’s difficult, given the lighting, to actually use the window as a mirror, and he certainly can’t see many details of his face. Next, he pulls out his phone and switches it to camera mode.

Grousing, he mutters, “Maybe I should ask Nancy for some make up tips to hide it.”

"The truth hurts, kiddo." He pauses. "Literally, in your case."

The mention of Nancy makes his ears perk up. There's probably a dozen of them in one borough alone, but Cooper stopped believing in coincidences a while ago. The fact Stiles is involved in the supernatural community makes those odds go up considerably. "This Nancy," he probes, "does she have red hair 'n green eyes?"

Stiles is about to grumble more when the question regarding Nancy comes. Blinking, he connects the dots and realizes what Cooper has—when they're both involved in the Underground, it's highly likely they're acquainted with some of the same people. He nods.

"Yep. Though I'd say it's more a strawberry blonde. You guys friends?"

"Something like that. The first time we met I nearly ran her over with my motorcycle." It didn't sound like the nicest of beginnings, he would admit. Things between them had gotten much better after that. "It's complicated between us. I'm lookin' out for her. Got her back, though with her skills, I doubt she needs it."

He was careful not to mention too much, unsure of how much Stiles knew about her status as a witch or her profession. She'd be madder than a wet hen if he accidentally outed her.

“You—what!?” he squawks in outrage, despite the fact that he has absolutely mowed down several pedestrians by now on his bicycle. “Cooper! Jeez.”

Obviously she must be fine, but still.

“And what does that mean?” Curious, prodding, and suspicious. “You’ve got her back?”

The vampire gives a flippant shrug. Nancy wasn't dead or injured, so clearly it wasn't that big of a deal that he had almost committed vehicular homicide. He had too much guilt involved around the act of killing people when he fed to have any left over for such mundane matters.

Lying and half-truths come easy to Cooper. He does it just about every day of his life. He won't mention how Nancy is out there on the streets, vampires feeding off of her and the dangers that presents. Instead, he gives his own version of the truth, half-twisted and omitting details while still staying true at the core. "It means when I'm friends with someone, that's what I do. I look out for them, make sure that they're safe. I've always been like that. I've gotta be loyal t'something, whether that's people or an idea, otherwise, my word isn't worth shit."

Stiles takes a moment to shoot Nancy a brief text, ascertaining that she isn’t actually roadkill. The very idea of it has him tense, because she’s one of the few people he feels like he has genuinely connected to in London. Weird, considering their first meeting. Mouth quirked, he glances over at Cooper with a narrow kind of scrutiny.

“What, people question your word a lot or something?”

"Unfortunately, yes."

Vampires aren't known for inspiring trustworthiness in others. Everyone either regards him with out-and-out suspicion or automatically assumes he'll eventually turn on them when he gets hungry.

"Such a shame, really. Look at this face. Is this the face of someone who would stab you in the back?" If he answers anything but negative in regards to that question, Stiles will be summarily smacked around the head.

As if sensing the potential consequences of any mockery, he simply purses his lips without saying anything. Truth be told, he really wouldn’t figure Cooper as the kind of guy that others would be suspicious of—and Stiles tends to have a fairly good radar for the less-than-savory types. So maybe there’s more to the guy than he’s seeing, history or something.

“You a werewolf?”

It’s the first thing he can think of. Cooper isn’t a witch, but is someone who has trouble gaining the trust of others—Stiles knows the opinion of the East End Pack is shaky.

Whatever Cooper was expecting Stiles to say, it wasn't that. He blinks in surprise. "You think I'm a werewolf?"

He starts to laugh. It's one of those bubbling laughs that starts off small and then begins to grow. Before long, he's got his head thrown back, laughing at full volume, and other people on the tube are beginning to look at them. He wipes away a wayward tear leaking out of the corner of his eye and manages to squeak out an answer. "No, I am not one of those flea-bitten puppies."

Brows furrowed, he rides out the laughter with an uncertain upturn of his own mouth. He doesn’t quite understand why the suggestion would be so funny, but he’s willing to tolerate Cooper’s mirth. That is, until the casual insult. And just like that, Stiles’ expression loses its warmth. Eyes hard, he stares at the young man from across the row and understands immediately what Cooper must be.

“This isn’t kindergarten, dude. I don’t think we need to resort to name calling.”

Edited 2015-07-05 23:50 (UTC)

"The truth hurts, kiddo. The wolves have always bad blood with my kind. Excuse me if I don't have anythin' nice to say about them." He was unaware of why Stiles would have any connection to the East End Pack.

He could've just stopped right there. The problem was that Cooper never knew when to quit when the going was good. "Best thing the Night Council ever did was put them on a short leash."

There’s the confirmation regarding his suspicions. Cooper is a vampire. Weirdly aware of his body now, Stiles tries not to fidget in his seat. This guy doesn’t seem too bad—at least, not enough to drag him off the tube and suck him dry. Still, this is the first time he’s actually spoken with one of Cooper’s kind. It’s exhilarating in a terrifying way.

“A short leash?” he echoes sharply. The comment has stirred his curiosity more than ire. “What did the Night Council do?”

Cooper watches Stiles attempting not to fidget with amusement. It's not like he's going to fang out and attack him right then and there. He's a very well-behaved monster.

"Passed some law 'bout how werewolves can't turn anybody without express permission from the Council. It's a way t'limit them under the pretext of keepin' everyone safe."

Cooper doesn't hide the satisfaction in his voice. Islington Nest has profited greatly from Sylvia Redbright's personal vendetta against the wolves. Anything that limited their numbers while the vampires continued to expand theirs was fine by him.

This is news to Stiles. Expression rippling with surprise, he gazes sightlessly at a point beyond Cooper’s shoulder. The Night Council has authority over internal pack affairs like that? He has a hard time swallowing the idea that Derek Hale is fine with it. On one hand, Stiles is relieved; his best friend was bitten unwillingly, after all. He knows firsthand what happens to those who are cursed by a werewolf. But in a city that thrives on political factions…

“What about the vampires? They got laws about that too?”

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