maskormenacelogs | awful sweet to be a little butterfly

I don't have a car yet.

[ is the first thing stiles tells derek when he turns up at his house. he peers, but derek ushers him out before stiles can catch sight of who he's living with. he flails his way backwards, right back to the sidewalk. ]

I wanna get one, I do, but money, you know, is this whole thing...

[ he spreads his hands. he doesn't have his daddy here to pay for stuff, and the government stipend he gets is gonna take saving if he wants to actually get a car. whatcha gonna do, right? but it does make the whole "i'll give you a lift to the beach so you can get all wolfy in peace" offer kiiiind of redundant. ]

[ for some reason derek had assumed the jeep would just show up, like it was attached to stiles hip. but of course it's not here. derek doesn't look all that bothered by it. ]

It's fine. There's a bus.

[ as if that's not at all surreal, taking the bus with stiles to the beach to ride out the full moon. derek's not sure how he got to this point in his life. ]

They don't give out cars with the apartments, apparently.

[ dryly, though derek probably isn't getting much of anything, considering he's stubbornly refusing to register. ]

No shit.

[ stiles deadpans. he's kind of annoyed, since it took him for-freaking-ever to pay off the jeep, and that had been with his mom's life insurance and a birthday gift from his dad helping out. and now he was back at square one, taking a bus outta town. ]

Okay, bus it is.

[ stiles makes it clear in his expression that he thinks public transport is the worst. ]

Doooo you know where the stop is?

[ whatever stiles face looks like, derek's probably looks the same. he hates the bus, he hates the bus worse in the heat. everything smells of sweat and discontent. derek would really rather walk. if he didn't have stiles, he might have. ]

No. I thought we'd just sit here until we saw water.

[ as derek gestures for stiles to take the window seat. it's half because derek assumes stiles would request it anyway, and half because derek instinctively feels the need to put himself between any incoming threats, and he assumes they'd come from the aisle. ]

Great.

[ stiles sighs, slumping into his seat, knees splayed. ]

Deeeefinitely gonna have to save for a car.

[ though he doesn't want to spring for some second-hand piece of shit, he wants his jeep, and it's right there in his voice. ]

[ their knees knock and derek sighs, readjusts to stymie the contact. no elaboration is needed, not really. he understands that stiles doesn't want a car from here, he wants his jeep from home, like derek doesn't want a new apartment here, he wants his apartment in beacon hills. ]

Does your drivers license even count here?

[ questions for the network, probably. though derek is putting off actually addressing the network. ]

Yeah.

[ stiles nods. ]

I asked, imPorts can just use the ones they bring from home.

[ and since he had his wallet on him, he's all set. obviously he's been thinking about this for a while. ]

Sadly they don't give out cars with Happy Meals. Not real ones, anyway.

You can probably find something cheap. Check on Craigslist, if that exists here.

[ though derek has no idea what stiles wants from a car. maybe he wants something nicer than that. he shifts in his seat, eyes the other passengers before settling again. ]

If you get bored, you can go back. I don't expect you to stay the entire time.

[ aka stiles has an out, or derek is trying to give him an out. ]

There's a used car lot, I think. I'll drop by.

[ and that's the end of that. derek changes the subject as stiles is looking out the window, and his gaze flickers to derek's reflection for a moment before he turns his head. ]

I won't get bored.

[ softly, like he's a little offended. it's not actually true, he'll probably get bored out of his mind if derek leaves him alone, but he's at peace with his own boredom by now. and anyway, what he means is: i won't leave you. ]

You probably will.

[ it's not really meant as an insult. derek says it quietly, more self-deprecating than anything else. it would be different if this were stiles and scott. derek's not really sure he and stiles can bicker for an entire night, and he isn't sure what to talk about. most everything from home is off limits. derek can't really ask stiles to fill in the things derek had missed, doesn't want to misstep and remind him of the wrong thing.

still, his tone isn't argumentative, just quiet, acknowledging the sentiment but not sure what to do with it simultaneously. ]

I'll pay for breakfast after.

[ white flag in the shape of pancakes and bacon, that's clearly the way to go. ]

[ he sends the text on the thursday — hey, is tomorrow good for you? — and the name and location of some shop he'd looked up. it's quaint, because everything in heropa is freaking quaint, genuine small-town (not like beacon hills which was kinda just... abandoned.) but it has thirty-one flavors, and a soda machine, and can you believe it? a jukebox. classic. ]

[ he's sitting in a booth with his feet kicked up, thumbing through the feed on his device as he half-watches the door, still not sure who it is he's looking for. "annie leonhart" is probably a girl, but that's all he knows. ]

[ and then this blonde girl walks in, looks about his own age, pretty and kinda built, and he sits up a little straighter because it's the first other customer he's seen since he got here. tries, tentatively: ]

Annie?

Edited 2014-06-23 06:21 (UTC)

[ annie looked toward the voice calling out her name, recognizing Stiles as a life-sized version of the young man she'd seen on video with his first posting. she lifted a hand in a partial acknowledgement, not quite waving as she switched directions, walking toward him. she's as nondescriptly dressed as always, in neutral colors, nothing that really stands out. it's easier to be part of the background and pass through unobserved when you already dress the part.

she pushes her bangs back off her forehead, toward her right ear. the air conditioning in this strange little shop is a pleasant contrast to the outside temperatures... though that begs the question of why she had a loose yoga-style workout sweatshirt on in the first place. ]

Stiles?

[ the time honored tradition of greeting one name question affirmation with another name question affirmation. when she's close enough, annie holds out a hand, schooling herself against looking around the store more than she had on first entrance. she had a sense of where the doors were, which ways the windows looked out, and the overall layout - she didn't need to actually start admiring the decor. yet. ]

It's nice to meet you face to face.

[ she probably means that. her tone of voice is polite enough, her expression neutral but not bored. ]

[ wow, so he was right. abruptly stiles realizes that not only has he asked a teen girl out for icecream, she said yes, and for a moment he wonders if he's accidentally scored himself a date. but she offers a handshake, and he reassesses. ]

Yeah, hey, hi.

[ he shakes, with a firm grip, a small smile, eyebrows raised. ]

Go ahead and take a seat, I can go order for us.

[ since the whole point of this was she obviously hadn't ever tried icecream before. that means she won't know what she likes, but stiles has a solution to that, and it's ordering a half-scoop of as many flavours as possible. (he probably shouldn't be so reckless with his wages, but it's not like he has to pay rent on his room, and he hasn't really bought himself anything like a treat since he got here.) ]

[ he slips back into the booth while the server makes the sundae, knees wide and elbows on the table, fingers drumming because he's not really sure what to talk about. ]

So how come you've never had icecream before? Really strict parents?

[ hella smooth. ]

[ There's a disaster coming, and it's in the form of all that ice cream Annie legitimately can't digest. Not that she knows the extent, and she'll be polite, but at some point, she'll also be looking for the indoor latrine (bathroom, she reminds herself, it's called a bathroom even without a bath, or a restroom despite having very little rest happening inside).

Annie notes his posture, the ways he moves and sits, not feeling the same need to find something to talk about simply because she's never been great at social interactions that required the whole social aspect to function. Stiles asks a question with a simple enough answer. It seems appropriate enough to Annie.

Her own posture is attentive, her head turning as she takes in their surroundings, checks back toward the door with the air of someone curious more than on alert. There's always a chance of an unpleasant confrontation with people from home. She's more surprised those people haven't appeared simply to warn others off interacting with her or Reiner, but that's been one courtesy extended their way without asking that she appreciates. She expects it'll run out one day. ]

Nothing like it where I'm from. Most of the really sweet things here, like chocolate, I've never heard about before being taken to this world.

[ Strict parent? Check to that, but not over this kind of intake. More over her each and every action and tied in expectation. ]

[ stiles isn't paying attention. ]

[ that's pretty much the long and short of it. he's not looking where he's going as he walks home (so weird, that after a month living in group housing in florida, he's starting to think the word "home".) he doesn't really watch the road before crossing. there's a honk, a screech, he looks up and sees death speeding down at him, and he's thinking goddamn, sure would be nice if i'd learned how to use that teleporting ability— ]

[ next thing he knows? he's pressed right up against a telegraph pole by some chick and a whole lot of dented metal curled around her. stiles' feels sick with how close he just came to being strawberry mush in between the fender and this pole. or tossed over the windshield like a crash dummy. or any other shitty scenario that results in a lot more blood. ]

Oh my god.

[ he's breathless, heart feeling like it's going to beat out his chest, which seems to be clenching tighter like it's making sure to keep it there. panic is careening down the highway of his mind and this time he's gonna get slammed. ]

Oh my god. Oh my god.

[ This was the decade where cell phones stopped having buttons and the garage bands of the eastern seaboard owned less plaid than she did and sang about how you only live once and 'turning up.' Bader was so far out of her element it wasn't just the car wreck that put that unfocused look in her eyes. Still nice to know teenagers just stupid enough to walk into open traffic without looking either way made it into this decade.

She ran the backside of the olive drab jacket she pulled from Goodwill over the side of her face to clean up the little bits of asphalt digging in her skin. There was a windshield wiper. A fucking windshield wiper just jutting out where her kidney should be feeling that. If she had any blood in her she would have blanched, but instead just grimaced before yanking it out. ]

Jesus shit I didn't need this- ah fuck.

[ Her organs are in entropy but she is convinced one her kidneys just switched places with a lung. Everything else was in working order, but maybe she should worry about the ringing in her ear. Staggering off the road she tries to look cool in the face of a teenager who looks about ready to have a mental breakdown ]

You bleeding?

Edited 2014-06-24 07:44 (UTC)

[Since his release from jail and the clearing of his name, Mitchell has been doing...

Well, honestly: not a whole hell of a lot. He got out and went home and had a drink, and then a shower, and then he had to go and beg to keep his shitty job at the rest home. Which they let him keep, grudgingly, and they weren't shy about letting him know just how grudging it was. Like he ought to be fucking grateful for overnight hours of lifting people out of beds they'd just pissed in.

The pathetic part is, Mitchell is grateful, because they could have said no. Because there aren't a lot of other options. Because he needs money, and it's right around there that he remembers just how pissed off he is about that. Like he needs this, any of this. He could be done with this whole sham of a life in five minutes. He'd made a piss-poor leader when that task was shoved on him, but he's vicious enough where that might not matter, where he could--

--Where he could end up taking orders from someone else. The new boss, same as the old boss. Like a rock and a hard place, but way less cliche and about a hundred times more bitter.

So it's been a few weeks now, and Mitchell is still doing mostly nothing. Bitterly mostly doing nothing, going to work and coming home and eating takeaway in front of the television and going to sleep. And that's it.

Except today. Today he has the day off. It's a lovely rainy day outside, a break from the heat and the sun, and it means his usual outfit of long sleeves and jeans and boots and fingerless knitted gloves looks a little less crazed-homeless-man and more like an actual conscious choice. The rain is more of a gentle miss, less the piss-down shit that he's used to--but that's welcome. Standing outside the cinema, Mitchell pushes his hair back off of his forehead and squints at the film times listed there. Any of them is as good as the others--or not as good--really, it doesn't matter, he's not here for quality film-making, he's here to waste a few hours, drinking and watching a film in public. What a sad fucking life.

It gets a little sadder when he turns away from the listings and walks straight into some kid going the other way, or turning to go into the cinema himself, or-- whatever, doesn't matter, Mitchell collides with him, hard, and steps back with a scowl.]

Jesus, man, watch where you're goin', would you--

[His current opinions on Florida and all of humanity in general makes that a little sharper than it might usually be, and he sets to dusting off his shirtfront without actually looking at who he walked into.]

Edited (edits subject line this is a meet cute for a movie date y/y ) 2014-07-07 21:45 (UTC)

[ stiles is kind of bemused by the way some of the movies and books and tv in this world is the same, and some is totally different. he doesn't think it's just because of the war, either. there's no marvel franchise, but then, that's probably because if all the superheroes running around. back home, he'd wanted to see the avengers but here he's going to go see the initiators which seems to still be an action movies, but doesn't sound quite as good. ]

[ stiles doesn't see anything lame in going to the movies on his own. he's never had a lot of friends, and he's used to his own company. and okay, so it's better when he downloads them and watches them in his room, because he can gets snacks or jerk off or text people or (rarely) attempt to get some homework done. but at the same time, that's kind of the appeal of the hushed quiet of a dark cinema. there's nothing else to pull away his concentration, which is tenuous at the best of times. so long as he's remembered his adderall that day, it's like he get a couple hours break from the world and his life. ]

[ especially if he picks smart and there's no one else in the theatre with him. that's the best kind of movie experience in the world. ]

[ stiles collides with someone going into the cinema, because he doesn't ever at any point watch where he's going, no matter how often someone shouts at him to. the two bags of Doritos he's stuffed under his hoodie to sneak into the cinema immediately fall out, and one bursts when it hits the ground, scattering corn chips all around the double doors. ]

Goddammit.

[ stiles whines, crouching to retrieve the unharmed bag and gingerly pick up the burst one, trying to hold in the last of the doritos from escaping through the torn foil. ]

How about you watch where you're going!

[ stiles retorts, glaring balefully at the Irish guy (who still looks kind of homeless, even in poor weather, sorry Mitchell.) ]

[The wet pavement makes the smell of the Doritos a little sharper. Mitchell finishes brushing off his shirtfront--which wasn't exactly clean to begin with, but that hardly matters, it's the principle of the thing--and looks down at the kid and his crisps in the damp. It's a little pathetic. On another day, he might almost feel bad.

Today, he just doesn't step on any of the fallen Doritos. That's all the charity he can manage.]

After you walked into me, you're going t' act like it's my fault. You don't wear glasses that you've left at home, do you, and you're trying to pretend like you've got perfect vision.

[The Doritos recovery is still on-going, and Mitchell sighs, once, sharply, and pushes one toward Stiles with the side of his boot.]

Come on. You've got two bags. Quit-- scraping around down there.

[ stiles sighs despondently and gives up. the safe bag is tucked right back under his shirt as he stands, leaving his hands free to hold the second bag in his arms as it slowly does. there's not much of a wind, but the flimsy silver packaging seems to be coming apart as they watch, unable to contain the volume of doritos that are starting to fall back to the pavement again. wet, grubby doritos and virgin chips that never touched the ground alike. stiles looks pained. he takes a handful of the clean ones and stuffs them in the pocket of his hoodie — guaranteeing he'll smell like fake cheese all day — and the rest go scattering along the ground to wait for someone with a broom. ]

Screw this.

[ it's despondent, though, without heat. he pops a dorito in his mouth, crunches it as he pushes at the cold glass of the double doors and heads inside. ]

And FYI? You walked into me.

[ he calls back, even though that's a blatant untruth. he's just mad about the doritos. ]

[There's something about the tone of that parting volley that catches Mitchell's notice. The voice, first off, which he recognises--but that's not too hard to believe, when the main form of news and communication around here is chatting people up over the network. Even if you ignore it half the time, like he does, you still end up talking to them, and his stint in jail had led to a few conversations out of sheer boredom.

But it's more than that. It's the catty cadence that, for a second, makes him think of George. It's enough that he doesn't just fuck off right afterwards, which he was nearly about to do. Instead, he stares, a moment, and then pushes his hand over his eyes, because how fucking pathetic, that random teenagers have started to remind him of George. It's like letting the steam from tea remind him of Annie.

Because-- of the tea connection. Not because she's insubstantial. He corrects himself, hastily, even in his head. Annie's occasional displays of wrath have left him a little bit oversensitive.

And it's then, somehow, that he puts together why the voice sounds familiar.]

Oh, Christ. You're the amateur detective kid, aren't you?

Oh my god.

[ stiles whirls, eyes wide, mouth made small with frustration. ]

Actually, I work for the police now? So it's not really amateur anything.

[ bullshit yes it is, he's still hardy boysing along and all he does at the precinct is get people coffee and file paperwork. but this skeptical asshole doesn't need to know that. he points. ]

Shouldn't you be in jail?

[ because yeah, he remembers this irish asshole, actually. probably when he runs into the guy accused of murdering a busload of people, or whatever, he shouldn't immediately get in his face, but unfortunately that's basically how stiles works. he's too full of annoyed bluster and sarcasm to feel fear right now. ]

You work for the police.

[That comes out a bit more incredulous than he actually means--all right, so he's a little incredulous--but then again, he's not exactly impressed with the police on a good day at best. Why not have some kid following them around, too?

But he doesn't actually mean to come off completely nasty, so as soon as he's said it, he holds up his hands, like in surrender.]

Look. Whatever. And I was released from jail, thanks, because like I said a thousand times, I didn't do what they were accusing me of. Thanks for your concern.

[ stiles feels a little awkward, at that, because obviously the guy didn't break out of prison just to go to the cinema, not unless he was gonna axe-murder people in the dark. ]

I'm still just a civilian,

[ he mumble-admits in turn. getter of coffees, filer of paperwork, he's not exactly some boy detective prodigy being elevated to chief. ]

So uh. Whaaaat are you gonna see?

[ also attempting to make small talk in an effort to be a little nicer, ease the situation. also maybe so he can check they're not going to the same film. ]

[Typical, exaggerating involvement. Mitchell isn't really surprised by that, but he raises his eyebrows a little like oh-you-don't-say.

But the question of his own personal film choice take his attention again, and he glances back toward the board with the times written out on it, a little bleakly.]

Does it matter? They're all kind of crap--and not even good crap.

[The meaning of 'good crap' is universal; he doesn't pause to define it.]

Just going to pick one and go in, and hope for the best. What about you?

[ it's true, not even good crap. stiles tries to casually re-stuff his doritos under his tshirt and hoodie. it makes him look pregnant. ]

I was gonna go see the Initiators. Because, I dunno, it looks like a superhero movie, and that's weird, right? Considering this place has actual superheroes running around.

[ he scratches his chin, not sure about the etiquette here, if it's too weird to say "hey, how about we see the same thing". but maybe he doesn't need to. mitchell's expressed zero preference, which means in stiles limited social understanding, if he picks a totally different film it will be blowing stiles off. and he won't be hurt by that, because this is some raggedy older irish guy with a criminal record and this disdainful tone that gets on stiles' nerves. and stiles doesn't care what he thinks. or what movie he sees. ]

[ whatever. whatever times a million. stiles goes to fish his wallet out of his baggy jeans, buy a ticket at the counter. ]

[The Initiators. As Stiles heads off with his baby bulge of Doritos to purchase a ticket, Mitchell glances over at the poster for the film. Not very promising. Big plasticky muscles. Everyone's really into that, which yeah, Stiles is right, if there's real superheroes running around, why would they need to do a film about them? It's very meta.

He scratches his fingers through his hair, and sighs, and then shoves off to go to the other ticket counter, to get a ticket for the same. Just because; just because times three million.

And then he just, sort of, falls into step beside Stiles toward the theaters--again, just because. He's intently studying his ticket, so it might seem coincidental, but, after a second, he says aloud:]

It had better not be a documentary. That's a possibility, yeah? Superhero documentary in superhero land. I guess they do films about cops and firemen and nurses, but it seems like that's different.

For one, you don't see many cops with fake plastic nipples attached to their uniforms.

[Because hello, Exhibit A. He points to the poster for the Initiators, starring a dude with big fake nipples on the pecs of his skintight suit, front and center.]

[ stiles snorts a little huff of laughter as he looks at the poster. ]

Actually, I've got a theory about that. Not cops, uh, costumes. People wear the stupid costumes for like, psychological reasons.

[ he doesn't really seem bothered that mitchell's seeing the movie with him. doesn't even care if he wants to talk over it. not like it's a good movie. the girl tears their tickets and directs them to cinema two as stiles talks. ]

So having fake nipples and armor that looks like a six-pack, that's all part of feeling like you can save people.

Uh-huh. You know, the simpler answer is that they're compensating for something. Don't tell me you've got amateur psychologist credentials on top of your amateur detective's badge.

[But it's a more light-hearted teasing than anything else. It's a theory that is at least worth considering, in a way that all theories are worth considering as you head down a shabby hallway in a shabby cinema toward a future that is two hours of crap movie.]

So by your reckoning, you're saying anyone could slip on the nipple suit and start dragging busloads of orphans off from the edge of cliffs? [Although, hold up, first things first--they're passing by concessions now, and Mitchell sort of slows, and gives it a nod--] Getting anything?

[ stiles looks like he's gonna answer, but he's distracted by the gesture, the bright red of the coca cola sign working its magic. ]

Yeah, I'm gonna get a soda.

[ he's kind of set for snacks, even if he kind of lost half his sneaky doritos. he still hasn't worked out the best way to smuggle in drinks, though, so he goes and waits in the queue for the spotty worker to serve him a slushy the size of his head. on a whim, he also buys candy floss, because they have it, and it's rainbow colored, and he wants some. ]

[ he is gonna get so high on sugar and he doesn't even care. if anything, it might actually make the movie enjoyable. ]

Are you, uh...?

[ he gestures as best he can now, hands full of junk. is he charitable enough to offer to buy a strange hobo dude's food? in a word: no. ]

[...wow. So far be it from Mitchell to judge anyone for junk food--he lives off of junk food--but wow, anyways, because that slushy is massive.]

Didn't have a bucket?

[He observes, coolly, as Stiles comes back over, now managing secret crisps and candy floss and cup that might as well be a bucket. And he glances back to where Stiles is (presumably) gesturing, where the buttery fumes rise off of glistening popcorn, where plasticky cheese glops out onto nachos. Pretty heavenly. But he shakes his head.]

Nah. I'll go halfway through the film, and you can try and summarise what I've missed out on. It'll be fun.

[This also casts Stiles as a George stand-in. Catching Mitchell up on films is George's job, when he's left the room for food or a piss or just fallen asleep.

He starts off for the theater again.]

Can you manage walking with all that, or d'you need a hand?

Don't run off with my candy floss.

[ stiles tells him, shoving the stick into mitchell's hand so he's not so overwhelmed by junk food. super thankful, this one. ]

[ that said, once they're actually in the theatre, stiles pulls out his doritos and puts them meaningfully on the armrest in between he and mitchell, like the silent code for yes sure I will share with you if you'd like. ]

[ he also puts his feet on the seat in front of him because he's a teenager. ]

[The loud crinkling of the bag reminds him of their very literal run-in outside the cinema, but when Mitchell realises that they are there as communal food, his heart warms toward Stiles exactly one shared bag of Doritos more. Which is actually a pretty significant amount. He's a lifelong sloucher, of course, but that doesn't prevent him from tugging the bag closer so he can start to pull it open, as genially as if he was pouring out tea for Stiles.]

Do I have to worry about you talking through the whole thing, or d'you insist on total silence?

[Oh, right, it would be easier to open the bag without candy floss in one hand, and he passes it back over.]

Here. Rots your teeth anyways. [like he has to worry about dental rot, or ever worried about dental rot even when he did have to worry.]

Thanks.

[ a little deadpan, because seriously, mitchell, are you his dad? it's not like stiles doesn't brush or floss, if he wants to eat brightly colored clouds of pure sugar, he can. ]

I'll probably talk. I was never allowed take snacks to the movies when I was a kid, I'd get too hyper and annoy everyone.

[ which bodes well, right, since he's pulling off some candy floss, rolling it into a sticky ball between two fingers, and tossing it into his mouth to dissolve. ]

[If looks can be deadpan, that's the sort of look Mitchell uses to observe the candy floss consumption routine. The whole thing is a little too routine to be a one-time thing. And George complains about his eating habits. Christ.]

Yeah. And... how many theaters have you been thrown out of?

[But he breaks his gaze a second later, as he looks away, shaking his head, and slumps a little more in his seat.]

Not that I actually care, 'cause I'll need more philosophical superhero commentary. That's exactly the kind of thing that makes this sort of thing bearable. No one seems to get that.

awful sweet to be a little butterfly

derek. june 13 (backdated). off to the beach.

yo.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

annie leonhart. june 20. heropa milk bar. i scream, you scream.

no subject

no subject

no subject

bader. june 20. heropa. some twilight shit.

Re: bader. june 20. heropa. some twilight shit.

june 30 (to semi hide my shame) - OUTSIDE A CINEMA tell me if this works or w/e

there is some mutual shame here lbr

shame cancels out shame so we're good

thank god

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