tampered | → you know I'd rather work alone than play a supporting role

When: August 14th.
Rating: R.
Characters: Everyone! Tell your friends!
Summary: There are no Star Wars people in the City so let's have ourselves a bit of education.

What started off as a brosession quickly turned into a free for all movie night. Not that Stiles minds considering, but it means he has to plan and execute everything a lot more smoothly. So when Saya offers up the equipment they need he jumps at the chance.

Isaac helps cart everything about - werewolf strength, Stiles is envious -, and together they track down a space in Xanadu and fill it. It's not a hot night but it's warm and balmy and nobody's going to end up with pneumonia. Squashy beanbags get borrowed off a particularly hipster coffee shop and placed liberally about the place. They take what they can, couches that fit out of doors and large obnoxious cushions so everyone has a place to settle. There's a fuckton of candy too. Stiles pretty much wipes out a weeks allowance alone getting it and the soda. But if he's doing something he's doing it properly and he texts everyone the time and the place and all but collapses into a beanbag.

When people arrive he'll move. Honest.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Curses?"

Color that a no. He doesn't like the sound of that, and his lips curl into a decided frown. His Swadisthana aches and he's sure this is not good. The sort of not good that's bad for him in a personal sort of way.

"That sounds like a pile of unicorns and rainbows."

Edited (wrong icon) 2013-09-14 23:20 (UTC)

"Yeah there's uh, these curses, they can do some weird shit? Some good some bad..." He didn't exactly want to be one of the people to break the bad news considering he dealt with it so poorly.

"...What sort of weird shit?"

Oh, man. This is sounding worse and worse with every passing moment. He scratches fingers against the scruff of his jaw, those bright blue eyes looking up to the taller boy. He doesn't like the sound of this, not one fucking bit. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, straightening up a little bit.

"How bad are we talking?"

"Well uh, I got cursed with asking questions to the whole city about advice, personal shit I wouldn't normally talk about. A friend of mine had to be totally honest.... oh and there were zombies one time." He doesn't exactly give it to the guy easy.

"Really, it's not the zombies that worry me," Peter says with a string of curses in his native tongue. Fuck. He decided not to look too closely at what it said about him that he was much more worried about honesty than he was about brain-eating undead.

There were about a million things he didn't need to be asking for advice on. Like Roman Godfrey, to name one. Especially since he was here. Or anything about how he'd ended up here, jesus on a fuckstick, man.

Isaac just looks bewildered, he understood none of those words but they sounded colourful.

"Are you okay...?"

"Oh, yeah. Just fucking peachy. There's only like a million things where it works out best for everyone if no one knows," Peter said with a rather frustrated eyeroll. Yeah, this is his not-a-happy-camper face. "This is pretty much the worst fucking place to run away to."

There had been a day there where he'd started to think that maybe it wasn't so bad. No hunters, as far as he could tell. No town that still whispered words like werewolf and killer behind his back. He didn't have Letha, and that loss was a hole deep in his heart, but... There was Roman. Even if he still hadn't figured out exactly how he felt about that. Whether that made it better, or if it was worse, a terror that would eat him from the inside like the sense of dread he woke from with those dreams they shared.

"I don't suppose there's a way to avoid this shit?"

Wow that's a strong reaction. Isaac isn't really used to anger or frustration at at the moment, everything had been pretty calm this week, so forgive him while his back stiffens and his eyes glow ever so slightly. "Dude, could you calm down? They're working on a way to fix the curses... its really not that bad."

He's frustrated more than angry. It takes a lot to make Peter angry, but the idea of somehow being pushed into making a statement like Lydia's, when he's sure there's a lynch mob here just waiting for the right catastrophe... It was trying, at the least. But, then Isaac's eyes are gold as they look into Peter's blues, and he can feel the wolf lurch inside of his body, despite that it's a week from the fucking full moon (it's one of those nights where he wishes that it wasn't). His body tenses, but his stance shifts lower, his head bows; non-aggressive. Peter is a werewolf, but he's not a fighter, not if there's any other choice.

But then that glow of his eyes catches him completely fucking off-guard and he stares, looking at Isaac, completely shocked out of his frustration. "Woah." Isaac's eyes are the same glowing gold as his own when he turns, but it's the wrong moon and he's not shifting.

Isaac let's himself relax, feeling guilty and annoyed that he jumped to anger so quickly. He was meant to be doing better with the whole self control side of things.

"I'm-" The word cuts off. "I'm sorry..."

Peter straightens, a shrug of his shoulders as he looks up at the taller teen, trying to play it cool, more or less. Someone else might feel ashamed or embarrassed at the fact that even if briefly, Isaac pushed and Peter backed down, but truthfully Peter rarely worried about things like that.

"It's fine. You, uh, okay?" He almost wants to ask. Ask about his eyes, about how he does that, but the part that's trying to not be a showoff, not get himself up to his ears in screwed up shit that makes him scared of those curses, doesn't want to acknowledge that anything's going on over here. But there's a feral gleam in his blue eyes.

"Yeah I'm fine... I just should never have reacted, uh, like that?" He genuinely felt bad, which just showed how far he'd come from the angry teen he was a year ago.

"Yeah, no worries." No actual damage done, he was much more okay with raised hackles than he was with actual violence being enacted. Especially if it was directed at him. He swallows, shrugs his shoulders, arms crossed over his chest.

"Your eyes went gold." It's a hushed whisper, too quiet for human hearing, and he knows he doesn't want to know, doesn't want to have this conversation. But fuck, he's never seen that before, and he can't entirely resist a puzzle.

Isaac just nods slowly. "Yeah, they uh, they do that when I lose control. Yours don't?" Because that was incredibly confusing.

"No, uh. Not outside of the full moon."

Yeah, this is totally confusing. And he's trying to tell himself it's not a mystery he needs to talk about or understand, but he's still here, and they're still looking at each other, blue eyes to blue eyes. He's never met other werewolves before, none except for Nicolae, who died when he was fourteen. Maybe his curiosity is only natural.

"Really? You must have pretty strong control... I wolf out every time someone touches a nerve." He's almost impressed, even if he hasn't gathered that this guy isn't normal by Isaac's werewolf standards.

→ you know I'd rather work alone than play a supporting role

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject