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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“…Apollo.”

Stiles is making wide-innocent-doe eyes at the disgruntled (understatement) lawyer and then at the brand spankin’ new car, which now has an impressive dent in it. Slowly, he begins to walk his bike backwards. His life is flashing behind his eyes.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again, you look pretty busy, better get a change of clothes, wouldn’t want to catch a cold, too bad about the car, remember that time we saved each other’s life in that haunted mansion, good times, okay bye!”

You know he dead.

"Don't you move an inch Stiles Stonovski," Apollo threatens. What was this kid's last name again? Okay, whatever.

He slowly manages to stand up, the cool weather hitting him and making his teeth chatter before he spots the dent in the car. Oh god. Oh no.

This car was a rental.

He doesn't look away from the dent, but he's calculating the payment and plotting Stiles's suffering.

"You're not getting away with this. Pack your bike in the trunk." We are going straight to the dry cleaners AND YOU ARE GOING TO PAY THE FEES.

Stonovski. That’s even worse than the time coach called him Balinski! How the hell could this guy mangle it so badly!? Sullen now, he considers the merits of riding off into the sunset and never returning to London, but ultimately remains. Apollo is a kind of okay dude, and Stiles would maybe feel bad for taking off on him after damaging the car.

Grumbling like the teenage boy he is, he does as told—except, as he’s sliding the bike into the trunk, the handlebars and pedals scratch the paint. Ah. Well. That just happened.

Apollo's unlocking the car doors when he hears a very scary sound. Like something that was actually scraping.

"What was that?" Don't make me come back there.

“Nothing!” he answers too quickly, voice unnaturally high-pitched. Hastily, he rubs at the chipped paint edges with the hem of his shirt, as if that would help. “Just gimme a sec!”

Hoping to prevent Apollo from seeing the damage, he all but throws the bike into the trunk before slamming it shut. Yikes. Well, at least the rental will still have that “new car smell,” if nothing else. Stiles rounds the vehicle to get into the passenger seat, peering at Apollo uncertainly.

"So, um...nice car, dude."

He is taking towels from the backseat and strategically placing them around his own to make sure none of the water would seep into the car's fabric. If only the car had leather...

He sits in, carefully, and slams it shut (hard) before his head whips around to give Stiles another glare.

"It's a rental. I needed to give it back tomorrow." He turns on the car. "And you're going to pay for my dry cleaning."

Cancel your plans immediately.

Edited 2015-06-21 20:23 (UTC)

The sympathetic cringe Apollo receives about the car being a rental is quickly replaced with a look of shocked outrage. Gaping, Stiles throws his hands out to the sides and scoffs.

“With what money!?” he cries, because he still doesn’t have a job and his funds are bleeding dry. “I’m not some fancy pants lawyer, dude!”

"Is that so? Then you're going to work for it," Apollo, on the other hand, is definitely not sympathetic.

"We're going, I'm paying it, and then we'll take about how you'll be paying me back. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

AND WITH THAT, HE STARTS FUCKING DRIVING.

"And don't get me started on the car."

"Oh my god, you are such a dad."

The way Stiles says it, it isn't meant as a compliment. Slouching moodily in his seat, he listens to the bicycle clanging around in the trunk.

"Can't we just say we're even now for that time you decked me?"

"I'm a lawyer, get your facts straight."

It's either that or he sues, probably.

"And no, not really, because after I punched you, you went and tackled an old lady. You just keep piling stuff up." He makes a careful turn. Too careful. Driving in a different country is scary.

"By the sounds of it, you need a job and I'm a manager. It's not a bad idea."

Stiles notices the slow, careful way that Apollo drives. He resists the urge to slam his skull into the headrest repeatedly; not only does the guy have the attitude of an old man, but he operates vehicles like one too. Maybe that’s why he has such intense anger issues—they build up under that old man polite exterior until Apollo is just bursting with emotion. Sucking back a sigh, Stiles begins to play with the lock of the car door. Click. Click. Click.

“Hey, that totally did not happen. Pretty sure an old lady would remember if she were tackled.”

If Stiles has any lingering guilt over that incident, it doesn’t show. Spoilers: He doesn’t.

“So let me get this straight… You’re offering me a job…to pay me…to pay you?”

Hey, he picks up the speed, okay. It's just the turns that suck.

"It happened, I saw it. And— yep! Think of it as a summer job."

He has to teach summer classes for eight weeks, which is thankfully easier on his other job, but still busy anyway.

"You can work for a few months and whatever you make extra, you keep. It all depends on hours and performance. It's just office help, anyway."

You're not going to tip over, Apollo. These turns aren't that different from the ones in America!!

"Office help...for a lawyer."

Stiles is mulling it over, a dangerous look on his face. Are you really sure you want him to have easy access to all those confidential files, Apollo? Is your office Stiles-proofed?

"How much?"

Considering Apollo is a walking lie detector, you will be risking J̵̳͓͔̭͎̘̯ͥ͂ͭͤ͑A̸̢̹̜ͬ̓̅Ĭ̞̙̩̣̈́ͪ̅ͩ̂L̷͖̦̥̖̎̉ͧ͒͂̚ͅ.

"Enough to pay it off, and then some."

Edited 2015-06-22 02:02 (UTC)

Wouldn't be the first time, to be honest.

"Hmmm...deal! Where's your office located?"

"In Hounslow. So it's a pretty friendly area, and I'll give you the directions before you go off to... wherever. Make sure to bring in your passport and some other identification, okay?" I need to make sure you can actually work in the country.

He eventually stops on the side of the road in front of a small dry cleaner's store, opening the car.

"All right, let's go."

Stiles starts, realizing belatedly they have arrived; he's been googling the Hounslow area on his phone. Swallowing a sigh, he gets out of the car and gently shuts the passenger door. Sorry, little rental.

"You got a change of clothes, Apollo?"

"Yeah! In the back." Apollo makes a move to open the trunk, but he stops immediately when he sees the scrapes.

God.

Damn.

It.

He stops, inhales deeply, exhales slowly, then pops open the truck to drag out a duffle bag from under the bike (it's hard work). Okay, into the store we go. The clerk takes one good look at Apollo and gives him a "got it" kind of look before he starts ringing up prices.

"... Hopefully this won't take an age." Yeah.

When Apollo mentions the location of the spare clothes, Stiles wheels around in alarm. But it’s too late—the guy has already rounded the car to the trunk and…has paused, very clearly and obviously noticing the scrapes. Stiles averts his face, trying to look innocent, and flinches at the sound of the trunk shutting. Somewhat sheepish now, he trots after Apollo into the building.

“You know how, in cartoons, you always see people riding these things?”

Stiles points at the coat-hanger conveyor belt. The clerk gives him a dubious look, as if trying to see where this question is leading.

“I’ve always wanted to—”

Noticing the clerk, Stiles cuts himself off and smacks his lips.

“Yep, nevermind. Annnyways… Where were you headed, dude?”

... Oh my god. Apollo's the perfect picture of a facepalm before he heaves another sigh, popping open his wallet and handing the money over. Luckily it's not much, fairly cheap, but it's the rental that Stiles will have to worry about.

One the money's taken care of he swings the duffle bag around his shoulder, opening the top and pulling out a tracksuit. He's not part of the school's physical classes at all, but they gave him one anyway.

"I was going to buy a desk and fridge for my office, among other things. I can drop you off wherever or you can come along, it's up to you. Uh... be right back, though."

The clerk is kind enough to point Apollo to the restroom, and it takes Apollo a record amount of time before he comes out in dry clothes and drops his wet suit into a bag for the clerk to take away. What a fucking day.

By the time Apollo returns, the clerk looks about ready to kick Stiles out of the store. Maybe the lawyer could hear Stiles testing out the bell on the front desk. Repeatedly. When he spots Apollo, he whirls away from the silently fuming clerk to beam.

“Dude! Look at you. Wanna do some suicide runs? I’ll time you.”

Just ignore him, Apollo.

Does this kid bother everyone he meets? Is no one safe from Stiles's Mouth of Disappointment?

"Will you stop for ten seconds? It won't kill you." Exasperation is evident in his voice and he apologizes to the clerk, agrees that Stiles is a brat, and promises to come back tomorrow for the suit. Luckily Apollo owns five more of the same damn thing, but it doesn't change the fact they're tailored.

"Okay, Stiles. Do you want to do errands with me or do you want to get dropped off?"

Wow, Apollo! That’s hurtful. How dare you.

Chastised for all of ten seconds, Stiles shrugs off the rebuke with a dismissive ease which is almost impressive.

“Oh my god, you really ARE such a dad. I’m not five, dude! I’m not going to do errands with you.”

He definitely does not feel that apologetic for the accident.

God, again with this.

"... A dad." Apollo's eyebrow raises up, taking a few steps towards Stiles with crossed arms. "A dad? I'm asking you because it's gonna be your office space. If you want to leave a good impression, you can start right now."

Stiles has no intention of leaving a good impression, yet. Frankly, he's still convinced this is all a very bad dream and he'll wake up later debt-free.

"But I don't wanna," he whines, sounding exactly like the five-year-old he claimed he was not.

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