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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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.”

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.

Wow, somehow this joy ride has gotten even better. And by better, Stiles means to say, I'm gonna drive this thing off a pier with you on it. Ass killing him from sitting on the tapered point of the seat, he steadfastly ignores the advice about UK English slang. Who the hell cares what they're called here so long as the other guy knows what he's talking about!? In any case, Stiles has reached the stage where he really needs to focus on pumping his legs.

Which is when the offer comes. If it were Scott, he'd accept in a heartbeat. As it is, he simply bristles defensively in response.

"Dude, you seriously need to readjust your definition of what's appropriate."

There's no doubt that, even seated behind Stiles, Sasuke would be able to push the bike along faster.

"Anyway, shut up. Just sit back and enjoy the scenery or something."

"It's morning in London." And the weather is terrible. Not to mention that the scenery he has to view is largely the back of Stiles's head. Boundaries be damned, those almost too dark eyes are rolling as he suddenly nudges one of the other boy's feet off of a pedal and immediately replaces it with his own to keep them from losing control.

"Keep steering; we have another left coming up." So he says before then hijacking the second pedal, suddenly working the chain of that bicycle nearly twice as hard as he amps up their speed.

What he doesn't have in personality he makes up for in quads.

“Whoa, hey—!”

Upsetting the stability of a twitchy, overstrung young man is probably not the greatest idea, but at least Sasuke’s weight can counterbalance Stiles’ before he pitches off the bike. He stares down at the pedals blankly, as if unwilling to grasp the idea they’re moving without his consent. This is almost as bad as that time he was convinced to let Scott drive his jeep. Stiles doesn’t have much control over anything in his life, so he’s fairly resentful that even his own bike has been essentially commandeered. Damn you, Sasuke…

“Are you just trying to show off? You were the one bitching at me earlier about riding at reckless speeds!”

"Whinging." lolololol

"I told you off for being reckless because as I said before you got up on the pavement. If you actually stay away from pedestrians then there won't be an issue regardless of how fast we're going. Now actually focus and steer and we'll be rid of each other sooner rather than later."

This is his main way to tempt cooperation while still allowing him that control he wants... and at least Stiles doesn't have the problem of trying to figure out where to put his hands; there's no room to brace them against the back of the seat and he'll be damned if he has to wrap his arms around him.

“Okay, steering? Doesn’t take that much focus, pal.”

Naturally, that’s when they very nearly crash into an elderly couple crossing the street. Swerving wildly to avoid a collision, Stiles takes the left as previously instructed and pretends that nothing happened—like, y’know, making Sasuke’s point by almost killing pedestrians. To prevent the other boy from commenting, he hurries along chatting.

“By the way, you totally hurt my feelings. Why would you want to be rid of me sooner, huh? Aren’t you enjoying this amazing bonding experience? We’re closer than ever.”

Literally, which is unfortunate. A little spiteful, a little mischievous, Stiles squeezes the handbrakes with subtle pressure, enough for Sasuke to need to work harder to pump the pedals, but slight enough that it might not be immediately obvious why.

His hand claps itself on Stiles's upper arm when they very nearly take out a pair of octogenarians, audibly grunting his agitation... but taking the moment to squeeze muscle that he hadn't been allowed to properly appraise before now. And he keeps infuriatingly quiet with his judgment, too, just leaving the other to wonder when he draws his hand back.

"I don't care if you're upset. If it's something serious then I'll consider changing my mind, but if you were actually bothered by my wanting to get to work and not just being overly sardonic as is your only defense, I'd say you were acting like a little bitch." Why are his legs suddenly so much more tired.

Cue him looking over Stiles's shoulder. "... I could punch you now but this makes for good exercise, so I'll just do it another time instead."

Stiles arrives at the conclusion that his life must have become a sitcom. It probably happened when he had the misfortune of first meeting this asshole. Seriously though, he refuses to accept that Sasuke just casually felt up his arm. On a scale of 1 to 10, it manages to be nearly as weird as that one time Scott walked into his bedroom and then visibly recoiled, demanding that Stiles open a window because it reeked of jizz. Alright, maybe it isn’t even close to being nearly as weird—but the point remains that Stiles is weirded out. And defensive. His musculature isn’t pathetic, okay!? As awful as he may be in lacrosse, he’s at least got something resembling biceps.

“I can’t believe you just called me a little bitch!”

Except that Sasuke only did in a hypothetical sense. Stiles is offened anyway.

“Here I am, just trying to make friendly small talk, and you feel the need to piss all over the olive branch. If sarcasm is my only defense, does that make beating down friendships before they bloom yours?”

He’s going to ignore the comment about punching him. Hopefully it isn’t an actual threat.

"Yes. One of many defenses, actually." There's really no point in denying it; he's both a dream and relationship crusher and he's very effective.

He could argue that his life is the one that's been turned into a joke by the introduction of Stiles instead but it seems like a futile battle that'll end in both of them having to recount too many insane coincidences that have had them meeting up until now. It's nauseating, really, and not just because he had too much hummus last night.

This is the interesting life that you're ruining, Stiles, this is it.

"I said you would be a little bitch but I'm not surprised you heard it wrong. You have trouble with focus, huh?"

The brutal honesty and self-awareness of Sasuke’s answer takes him aback, though he knows it shouldn’t by this point. Silent, he concentrates on the mechanical whirl of bicycle spokes while scrambling to think of some clever response. Nothing; it’s hard to mock a guy so willing to treat his own flaws as strengths.

Fortunately, the other boy saves him from needing to immediately reply. Stiles worries at his bottom lip. Did he forget to take his meds that morning? Maybe. While he’s usually fairly good at remembering to take them, London has totally thrown off his routine. Not that it matters, honestly—the Ambien has been frustratingly ineffective lately. He blames all these damn supernatural types.

“Shut up,” he suggests without heat, applying the handbrakes harder. No doubt he’ll need to replace the brake pads once Sasuke is through with them. “I should have left you on the sidewalk. You’re such a little punk.”

"Do we need to go over the reason I was on the pavement in the first place again?" No, we don't. He's certainly said it enough times and all of his energy needs to be redirected to his legs instead, muscles finally starting to feel that familiar burn of tiredness when Stiles intentionally makes his task just that much harder.

"First you sardonically suggest that we're actually getting quality time together and then you say you should've left me behind back there; if you really want to dedicate yourself to your craft of bullshitting people then you should stick to one story at a time," he counters, suddenly snapping those pedals back and throwing a foot down to catch it against concrete and keep them from toppling after a loss of momentum.

"Now stop it. It's going to take us even longer at this rate."

The unexpected, abrupt halt is a welcome one. Stiles plants both feet firmly on the ground, stands—and realizes that he can’t actually dismount the bicycle. With Sasuke seated behind him, he would need to swing a leg over the handlebars. There’s no way he can manage aerobics like that and not make a total fool of himself. So he settles for twisting at the waist, turning around to face the other boy. All the humor has bled from his expression; he’s genuinely irritated now, unlike the mock indignation he’s played at before.

“I’ll make this real clear for you,” he begins slowly, as if speaking to a particularly idiotic child. “The accident? Did not obligate me to cart your bitchy ass around London. I offered because I wanted to. And it’s called teasing, not bullshitting. It’s something people do when they want to make someone laugh or lighten the mood. Big shocker you can’t tell the difference! I doubt you’re even capable of holding a conversation without being a rude, awkward, dickbag.”

The mini-rant is winding down. Glare slowly weakening, he shoots Sasuke an uncertain look and then returns to facing forward.

“Believe it or not, I’m actually making an effort to get to know you here. So either screw off or make an effort to meet me halfway.”

The awkward positioning coupled with the fact that they're stopped in broad daylight on a busy street might encourage laughter in a man of lesser severity but no one has a stiff upper lip quite like Sasuke. That said his expression doesn't remain wholly impassive, eyes actually widened in surprise by the time Stiles looks away again.

"... I don't get you." Well at least it's mutual. "Why would you want to make me laugh?" And after asking that out of all the questions he could think of he presses down on one pedal again, slowly building up their momentum to be able to take his other foot off the ground.

"I don't have many hobbies to share but I live in a one bedroom flat. I'm eighteen, I'm a Leo, my blood type is AB, and I'm allergic to three kinds of tree nuts: Brazil nuts, cashews, and walnuts. If you tried to poison me you wouldn't be the first and I've been sent to the hospital for it six times. Your turn."

Stiles is slow to respond as the bike begins to pick up momentum. One of the pedals scrapes against the back of his calf before he manages to move both legs out of the way. Hunching forward, he prepares for round two of sour, petty diatribes. This is probably the most unpleasant day he’s had in London so far, including the time a ghost possessed him and then a tiny lawyer socked him. If he bothered to turn those judgments inward, he might realize the reason he’s so bitter—Stiles has discovered the beginnings of a strange, yet unique sense of solidarity with Sasuke. But he doesn’t know what the hell to do with that solidarity, or if he even wants it. Not everyone is worth investing time into.

“Uh.”

Except sometimes, such decisions are out of his hands.

“Dude, I really can’t follow that up with anything comparable. What the hell do you mean, you’ve been poisoned six times!?”

Even with firsthand experience of how aggravating Sasuke is, that’s extreme beyond extremism.

"Kids do stupid things when they're irritated with one another and I didn't just develop this personality overnight." No, this has been his self-inflicted burden for many, many years.

"It made them want to act against me, so considering how many years I was around a lot of them six times isn't all that many." What a strange fate it should be that today hasn't felt half so unpleasant to him, injured and sore and the new victim of a hit-and-indentured-servitude but somehow in the back of his mind he's aware that it's not gone as badly as it could've.

"What you follow it up with is up to you. You could follow my format; state hobbies and your living situation, your age, that kind of thing. Do you really expect me of all people to teach you how to hold a conversation?"

OTA; various locations and times

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I LOST THIS THREAD SOMEHOW omg I'm sorry

HDU NO FORGIVENESS jk it's totally fine c:

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