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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He's up and Nancy rises forward on to her knees, reaching out for him.

"Stiles- what's--" His grandparents. Shit. "Yeah. Here." Reaching over to her bedside table, she tossed him her cell-phone. Ignore texts from Cooper and Kenzi and the like please.

Fortunately, Stiles is far too distracted to snoop through the cell phone. If he weren’t so upset, he’d very likely take a peek at her text messages. Instead, he hurriedly dials the number to his grandparents’ landline and waits; maybe he should leave the room for privacy, but he’s not even thinking about it at this point.

“Babciu,” he breathes when his grandmother answers. “It’s me— …I’m fine, I promise. …I’m sorry. …No, I wasn’t drinking. …Is dziadziu—? …Okay. …I’m at a friend’s. Really, I’m good.”

The rest of the conversation moves along slowly. Stiles makes an apologetic look at Nancy before wrapping it up. After his grandmother is satisfied and reassured, he finally hangs up and gives the phone back.

“Thanks. They were…really worried.”

Nancy's too tired to bother to eavesdrop. Instead, while he speaks, she works on actually waking up, pushing her hair out of her eyes and getting situated. So Stiles was here. Juliet was somewhere. It wasn't too late, and she was in her pajamas. Alright. She can deal with this.

"No problem. Do they need you home any time soon? I could get you cab fare. Or at least something for the tube." It only seemed polite to offer. She'd had men offer her, on the rare occasion when they paid for the night.

"Your grandparents alright?

"Yeah! No. I mean, my grandparents are fine. Pissed that I didn't shut the door behind me on my way out last night, but just relieved everything is fine. And no, you totally don't have to do that. But thanks."

Granted, he's not really sure how he'll get home, but... Well, if he walked around last night, surely he can walk back to Sutton. Speaking of which, his feet don't hurt nearly as bad as they could.

"You said you cleaned me up? I...seriously can't thank you enough, Nance. I swear I wasn't...stoned or anything."

"Yeah," she says, and this time, grabs a large hoodie from the foot of her bed and starts to stand up. "I brought you in, you were bleeding something awful on your feet. You shouldn't thank me, though. I'd do the same for anyone." Magic was just very handy.

She pauses for a moment, standing right at the edge of her bed. "I wouldn't judge if you were. What was it, then? You weren't responding at all."

She rolls up the sleeves of the hoodie. "C'mon, I'll make us some breakfast. Coffee, then, if you don't fancy tea?" Gosh, she was British.

Brow furrowing, he wonders what kind of point she’s trying to make by saying she’d do the same for anyone. Even if it was a typical gesture for her, it definitely wouldn’t be for most people; he thinks it deserves gratitude, whether or not she wants to accept it.

“Coffee would be great, yeah,” he confirms, following her out of the bedroom. “I was sleepwalking. I used to do it a lot when I was younger. My dad even installed security cameras and locks at one point because of it.

He sits down in the kitchen, taking a moment to lift up his feet and inspect them. If she hadn’t told him, he never would have guessed they’d been broken and bleeding several hours ago.

There was no point to make. Just Nancy being Nancy. She was a kind woman, who, if she took a liking to you, cared as much as she could. Nancy Fagin, everyone's mom at eighteen. Even Kenzi, and that girl was 7 or so years older than her.

"I can do coffee, then," she says, and starts to put a pot on. If he wants coffee, it's easier to drink it herself as well. She busies herself around the kitchen as she listens to Stiles. "Really? Bloody- that's awful. I'm just glad you're alright, didn't wander into the Thames or traffic or worse. You're really lucky, I hope you know."

Maybe there was some sort of talisman she could make for him. Something to stop the sleepwalking. Or at least, keep him confined to his grandparents'. Once he left, she'd get to researching. "But he was right to install locks, your father sounds like a smart man." She smiles tightly.

"I hope you don't mind, but I just healed you completely last night. It was easier than waiting, and I didn't really want you to bleed on my couch. If that's not alright, I promise I won't do it again." But it was healing magic. that had to be okay, right?

Nancy presses the 'go' button on her coffee maker. "Right, so we've got coffee. What else're you going to want? Cereal? I could do pancakes, I'm sure I've got bagels somewhere... You're the guest, so you best decide."

The comment about his father elicits a distant, faraway grin from Stiles, like he’s recalling over instances to either support or oppose the assessment. As much as Stiles thinks and chats about Scott McCall, he’s come to miss his old man desperately. He worries how his dad has been taking care of himself, if Melissa has been able to check in on him from time to time. With a slow inhale, he returns to the conversation at hand.

“I don’t really eat breakfast.” Usually because he doesn’t wake up until the afternoon. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

And as for the other matter… “Don’t worry. About the magic. Seriously, it’s fine. More than fine. It’s actually really cool. I wish I could have seen it.”

"No breakfast, then." She usually just had coffee or tea.

"Next time you have an injury that needs healing, then, I'll do what I can. But don't use that as an excuse to get hurt, you." She pointed at him as she winked. The very idea coffee was already helping her wake up.

"I just don't want to force it on you, if it was something you really didn't want."

Content with just coffee, he accepts the change in plans with a slight smile. He’s still coming down from the high of panic, heartrate only just now beginning to slow, but minute by minute he returns to himself. Nancy is easy to be around, which helps.

“Is that an issue with people?” he asks, genuinely curious.

"I've heard stories," she admits. "Some people who think it's the bad sort of witchcraft."

Stiles blinks, beginning to realize how little he understands about magic and witchcraft.

"Oh. Was it like...dark magic?"

His tone is anything but judgmental.

"No. There's dark magic and all that, but there are people who just consider all magic to be evil. That we're satanists. Which couldn't be further from the truth." She sighs.

"That's one of the things we were talking about at dinner. The two sides of the Witch community here. Circle Daybreak and Circle Midnight. Daybreak is Redbright's territory." Which, process of elimination, was not Nancy's.

"People consider Pokemon cards evil too," he says dryly, with a roll of his eyes. "It isn't a problem with me. Not the dark stuff either, not necessarily."

"I'll keep that in mind." Genuinely, as the coffee pot signaled it was done, "thank you, Stiles. Now- milk or sugar?"

"Suuuugar, please and thank you."

Stifling a yawn, he breathes in the aroma of coffee in the air and sighs happily. There's nothing better in the morning.

"Sorry again about all this. You don't have work or anything, do you?"

"sugar it is." she adds a good heaping to his coffee, pushing it towards him. Nancy, meanwhile, takes hers black.

"no- I work nights, so there's no need to fret." she had her own schedule. did what she needed when she wanted. no usual client had called for her services during the day today, so she was free. "I'm just glad you're safe."

The coffee halts the flood of questions, but only momentarily. Hissing quietly as the drink burns his tongue, he blows on it dramatically before settling back.

“Night, huh? What do you do?”

Shit. Shit shit shit. Shiiiit.

She couldn't come out and tell him what she really did. That she was a prostitute. That she was a blood worker, or any of the nasty names that either job came with. But she couldn't lie to him.

What she needed was a time out like Saved by the Bell. But, unfortunately, that wasn't something she was capable of.

"I'd rather not talk about it, if it's all the same to you." She took a sip of coffee as casually as she could. Damn it, now he was really going to ask questions.

Lying would have been better, for sure. Stiles blinks at her in surprise, not sure why exactly she would be so secretive about her job. Maybe it had something to do with dark magic…? Either way, now that she won’t outright tell him, he’s determined to find out.

“Uh, sure. Though I can keep a secret, you know.”

Damn it all.

"It's not that, I know you can." She didn't actually believe that, yet. "It's just it's not something I'm proud of. And nothing I want you involved in." She took a large sip of coffee, the liquid burning her throat as she swallowed.

And that has him hooked. Naturally, the moment she admits it isn’t something she’s proud of, his mind goes to hooker. The idea is dismissed almost immediately; he refuses to imagine her as a sex worker. She’s a witch, after all. There’s no way she’d need to resort to prostitution for money. And it’s not like anyone ever enters that industry out of free will. Right? Right.

“Thanks for the thought, but I can take care of myself,” he replies, frowning. “Plus, if it’s part of the Underground, it’s probably only a matter of time.”

Sucks to be you, Stiles. You're right.

Nancy sighs. "No- it's- well- sort of." There was no getting out of this one. Time to spin it so he wasn't quite so apt to ask questions and would just let it be.

"D'you remember that dinner? Where I offered you something to smoke? I'm a dealer. Mostly of drugs with magical properties." She hangs her head. "You happy?"

Stiles definitely is not happy, though he’s not particularly sure what, exactly, he’s feeling at the moment. Running a fingertip along the rim of his coffee mug, he tries to parse what she’s telling him. Nancy deals drugs…? Wait, why does that ring false to him?

“You told me Fagin was the one who deals,” he says, eyes narrowing. As stupid and naïve as he may seem, moments like these are where Stiles' true potential shines.

"So two people can't deal?" She asks with a raised eyebrow. Fuck, this is the opposite of what she wanted. There's a bottle of vodka on the table, and it's taking all her strength not to pour some into her coffee. Green eyes move to look at the bottle momentarily.

"He's more the mastermind behind the operation. I work on the streets for him." Not a lie. "He doesn't like to leave the den if he doesn't have to. That's what me an' the boys are for." That, and for stealing for him.

"A long time ago, they'd call him a Kidsman and a Fence. That's evolved and changed with the times. So I deal drugs."

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