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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"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."

With a slow nod, Stiles seems to accept the explanation. But under the surface, he's picking apart the threads of her words. Something isn't adding up, though he doesn't want to pressure her into telling him more than she wants to. Stiles will simply need to figure it out on his own; nothing he's not used to.

"Sorry, I guess I misunderstood what you said that night."

A pause.

"Wait. He uses the boys as runners? Just how old are these kids!?"

She's going to pretend he believes her. "It's alright- I probably was drunk." She was often drunk.

Nancy does her best to relax, letting her shoulders fall somewhat as she took another drink of coffee. Maybe she didn't need that vodka. Maybe.

No, she totally did.

"Youngest is five right now." She can't meet Stiles' eyes again.

In that moment, it feels as if the very blood in his veins has gone ice cold.

“What?”

Stiles knows that he didn’t mishear her. But he wishes, desperately, that he had.

“How young does he start using them?” he demands, stomach curdling. He regrets the coffee now.

Okay. Y'know what? That vodka is needed right now, and Nancy wastes no time in unscrewing the top and pouring a liberal amount into her coffee.

She needs to answer him, she knows Stiles really won't let this one go until she answers him, so she takes time to enjoy her vodka and coffee. It doesn't taste like anything.

"When I called him a devil, I wasn't lying," is her answer to his poorly phrased question. The real answer was that it depended on what he needed them for.

“That’s messed up.”

The chair screeches in protest as he abruptly pushes it back. Stiles climbs to his feet, expression taut with anger and disbelief.

“That’s so—Nancy, how can you just go along with something like this?”

"you say that like I've got a bloody choice." She still won't look at him.

"I hate it. I hate him- but there's so much at work that you don't understand. it's not a simple situation." Anther drink is taken.

Stiles absolutely cannot understand. Mouth dropping, he struggles for emotional purchase.

"Explain it to me then. Is he threatening you? Is he hurting you?"

Nancy's eyes harden.

"don't ask questions you don't want answers to, Stiles. please don't."

"I want the truth!" he snaps, and then he's pacing in her kitchen, bare feet slapping loudly on the floor. "This guy is using little kids to push his drugs? You're not stopping him? Something's going on. You need help, Nancy!"

"no you don't!" now she's standing. behind her, the coffee pot starts to shake.

"you don't know anything stiles! not about this." Drawers were rattling, but she paid it no mind. "this man- no. I can't tell you. I won't tell you. you won't understand. you don't understand!"

Mouth thin, he glances beyond Nancy to warily eye the various kitchen implements now trembling. But he doesn’t think the witch will hurt him, not consciously at least, so he presses onward.

“You’re right! I don’t know anything about this. That’s why I’m asking! God, if you won’t tell me for yourself, do it for those kids!”

"you don't get it!" her bathroom door slams of it's own accord and Juliet hops off the couch to go hide

"I'm doing what I can for them! I'm there when I can be to protect them! they get all the money I can give, that I can make for them. and they love him- adore him. I did once, too." she sighs, and the shaking slowed.

"he's a dangerous man. and he owns us."

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