undergrounds | they used to sing about the birds and the bees;

dirty paws and furry coat; (a)

It’s easier, now, to be human. Now that she has something like a pack. It doesn’t mean she prefers it by any means. Being human is still difficult, still something she doesn’t ‘get’. It might be easier to blend into the streets of London as a human, but Malia’s never really cared about easy.

Which is why she’s back to old habits, trotting around an area with multiple coffee shops, looking for breakfast. Or lunch. It’s late enough in the day to be either, at this point. It’s a particularly busy one that’s she decided to poke her face into the dumpster for, and she’s just managed to catch them after their morning rush, which means a lot of half eaten scones or donuts or toast or some kind of breakfast sandwich.

Her back paws are scrambling on the side of the dumpster as she tries to climb inside, and she finally does with a loud ‘Oof’. With that, she starts tearing through the bags.

After she’s eaten, she sticks to the shadows as best as she can as she makes her way around the city, doing her best to stay out of the way of people. She’s really not in the mood to deal with animal control now, thanks.

she ran down the forest slope; (b)

Sometimes, she remains human, because it’s the right thing to do. She has to learn eventually to navigate her way through this space. She can’t stay an animal forever. It helps having a family, even if it’s a small one. The gaping wound in her heart is still there, but it’s slowly starting to scab over.

She really hates having to pay for things, though. Malia may have found a family, but she has no income to speak of, and absolutely no job. She probably couldn’t get one even if she wanted one; she never went to school, still doesn’t go, and she has no credentials that she knows where to find them.

Malia’s standing outside that same coffee shop she was at for breakfast, now at the front door instead of the back. She’s got her arms crossed and she’s glaring at it like it’s personally offended her. It smells great, and her stomach is growling and she’d like to go inside, but--

But she can’t buy anything. And she’s sincerely contemplating just turning into a coyote and snagging lunch that way.

Ugh. Humanity.

the forest of the talking trees; (closed to derek hale)

Malia wasn’t going to argue that she probably needed a phone. Allying herself with her cousin’s pack meant that they were going to need a way to communicate with one another when they weren’t close by that wasn’t a series of complicated howls.

She was seated in the passenger side of his car, wrinkling her nose a little at the plastic smell of it.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she says, fastening her belt. Even though she knows that, yes, he kind of does. There was just some vague memory of her mother teaching her to be polite when it came to expensive gifts, and maybe still a little bit of wariness because of who Derek shared a surname with. She knows enough about Peter to know he probably won’t be an issue. It doesn’t keep her skin from crawling when she thinks about it.

( brackets or prose is fine, and if you have a different idea for a thread you'd like to use, feel free to leave it as a starter!! )

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Happily accepting these choices, he makes inane small talk while they wait in line. When their turn comes, he rattles off an order: banana bread, blueberry muffin, and water for Malia; breakfast sandwich and mocha for himself. The expense has him swallowing a grimace, because he still has yet to find a summer job and hates the idea of sponging off his grandparents. But he’s all smiles for his impromptu companion for the morning.

“I got you a blueberry muffin, since you seemed to like the first one I gave you.”

Stiles beams and gestures to a table for them to sit at.

She's glad he didn't ask her to pick something from the menu. She's staring at it in awe, and she'd have probably backed out of the room and left if he had. There's too many choices, and she doesn't know what the right one is.

Malia's so absorbed in trying to translate the menu to the English she understands that she doesn't hear Stiles at first.

"Huh?" She turns to him, eyes wide, kind of terrified. "Oh. Okay, thanks."

It isn't until they're seated that she parses what he actually said, and she sighs, putting her head in her hands. "No, really, thank you. For remembering. This was a bad idea."

“What? No! It totally isn’t. Come on.”

Trying to make up for her lack of enthusiasm, he helpfully pushes the banana bread and muffin closer to her side of the table. He’s not entirely sure what the issue is yet, though Stiles is now scrutinizing her more closely than before.

“This isn’t about the money,” he says slowly, working it out on his own. “Do you—wanna eat outside instead? In the park maybe?”

Malia's head comes up sharply, and she stares at him in stunned silence for a second. She wasn't expecting him to pick up on it at all, and the fact that he has, and so quickly, is alarming. But in a good way. She doesn't know what to say, at first, settling on staring at him for what probably becomes an uncomfortably long moment.

"Yeah, that—if you want."

Because if he'd rather stay here, she would. She's trying to be 'normal', after all, a human. It's proving to be a lot more difficult than she thought it would be.

Swallowing, Stiles tries to meet that intense, unblinking stare straight on. He’s still learning to read Malia, but he’s fairly confident he hit the nail on the head about this. Maybe having a werewolf best friend has predisposed him to picking up fast on shapeshifter idiosyncrasies. Or maybe he was totally off-base and she’s drawing out the suspense before slapping him. Actually, she seems more like the type who’d go for a closed fist. And right after the bruise from Apollo finally faded.

There’s no punch. There’s no punchline either, and Stiles doesn’t try to deliver one. Some things aren’t meant to be joked about, and her discomfort is almost palpable.

“I’d prefer it,” he lies smoothly, already packing up their order in the brown bag it arrived in. “I hate sitting in here. Stinks like coffee and makes me nauseous.” Actually, he adores that smell. “You ready? I'll let you pick where we go.”

There's something off, but she can't quite figure it out. Something about the way he's said it makes her wonder but it doesn't feel right to call him out on it. Ignoring that odd feeling, she's still confused. But in a good way.

She nods slowly a couple of times and stands back up, following his lead.

"There's a park nearby. It shouldn't be too far to walk. You're not going to be late for anything are you?"

“Nope,” comes the cheerful response. “Totally free.”

A bell announces their exit. Stiles holds open the door for Malia with a shoulder, eyeing the weather thoughtfully. It actually looks like the rain might hold off for a few hours. Knowing his luck, though…

He’s familiar with the park she referenced, so he leads them in that direction.

“How about you? You got a busy schedule?”

"No," she says, giving him a curious look. "I usually just wander around London, you know that."

She's relaxed considerably since stepping outside, her shoulders untensing. Malia takes a deep breath and falls into stride next to Stiles.

"Thank you."

“Right. Right…”

Even hearing it a second time, there’s a part of Stiles that refuses to believe it. There’s no way a pretty and chill girl like Malia spends most of her time in coyote form pillaging the dumpsters of London. That kind of thing is reserved only for psychos and hobos. In any case, it’s hard not to notice how much more at ease she seems now; Stiles is relieved he analyzed the situation correctly.

“Hey, no thanks necessary. In fact, I should be thanking you. You gave me an excuse to escape that place.”

In spite of the seemingly ignorant reassurances, the smile he shoots her is gentle and understanding.

"Are you sure?" She glances back over her shoulder at the cafe, gripping the cup with her water in it a little tighter.

"They're like you. You fit in."

Malia looks back over at him, eyes narrowing in confusion. "You don't have to stay with me if you don't want to."

Unbidden, his gaze slides askance until he's regarding the cafe as well. He smiles thinly and continues walking.

"Do I?" he challenges her gently, eyebrows raised. "I don't think I do. At least, not as well as you seem to think."

Shaking the bag of goods in his hand, he shrugs.

"Either way, I'm right where I wanna be. You'd know if I were lying."

Malia looks at him askance; she's not so sure about that. She hasn't really perfected the art of how to tell a lie from the truth when it's being spoken to her. The thing is, Stiles doesn't really have a reason to lie to her.

She gives him a small, almost shy, smile.

"You're human though. I'm not."

The smile Malia offers him has his own melting into something less bitter and more earnest. Though their acquaintance has been brief, he feels that he has a fairly good understanding of what's bothering the shapeshifter. A kind of kindred loneliness for her flares up in his chest. Stiles knows what it's like to not belong to the right world, but on a much smaller level than what she must experience.

"And that's okay. There are probably vampires who integrate better into human society than us. We just need to find our own niche, you know? Like, the best of both worlds."

The urge to snarl when he brings up vampires is there, but she settles for making a brief disgusted face instead. It's what he's saying between the lines that she focuses on, and her shoulders relax just a little more. She's not alone in this anymore. She doesn't have to be.

"I think you're doing pretty okay so far."

they used to sing about the birds and the bees;

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