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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"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?"

Figurative mental brakes have put a firm halt to any and all thought processes. With a frantic, violent flap of his hand, he dismisses the other boy’s request for corresponding personal information. He’s not done talking about this. So not done.

“Okay, did you attend some school designed to specifically train the next generation of serial killers? Because if the answer is no—actually, hold up. If the answer isn’t no, do me a favor. Pretend you never met me, refuse to ever take up a hit targeting me. You can keep my bike in exchange. We’ll call it even.”

Said bike rolls over a sharp bump. Stiles thinks the bike seat may have just performed a prostate exam on him. Cringing, he continues.

“When a child poisons someone else, the adults don’t laugh it off like, ‘oh, kids will be kids!’ No. Instead, they ship that little psychotic freak off for some serious therapy and pray they haven’t been raising the next Ted Bundy under their roof. So stop treating this so lightly! That’s screwed up! Really, really, really screwed up!”

"If I complained about what people did to me without changing my attitude then I'd just be a hypocrite, wouldn't I? It's annoying but I'm still alive; I haven't been seriously injured." Is it annoying that he was poisoned or annoying that he's still alive? Probably a fair mix of both.

"But that's the first time you've tried to be humorous and succeeded." BRAVO. "I'm not a serial killer and none of the incidents happened at the school anyway -- the orphanage wasn't connected to it. Ah, take a right this time. You can drop me off just past the corner.

But firstly, who is Ted Bundy?"

Of course. Of course the first time that the other boy appreciates Stiles’ sense of humor, Stiles isn’t actually trying to be funny. How is this happening. How can Sasuke even be a real person. What kind of world do they live in. What kind of world does Sasuke live in. Maybe the last rhetorical question is answered for him at the mention of an orphanage, and Stiles shifts on the bike uncomfortably.

“No, see, you’re missing the point. Even your awful attitude doesn’t merit attempted murder. And you can google Ted Bundy later.”

The bike is directed around the corner, and Stiles wonders if he will ever recover from this weird experience of riding dutch with Sasuke.

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OTA; various locations and times

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