[ Naturally, because he’s an overly curious idiot who doesn’t know what’s good for him, Stiles stares directly at the harsh glow of light produced by the Witch’s magic. When it begins to sear the impressions of blotchy color into his eyes, he belatedly averts his gaze and tries to blink away the garish aftereffects. The trichobothria stiffen along the back of his hands and up his arms in response, covering the sense that he temporarily impaired. ]

Tell me something I don’t already know.

[ Dread has him rethinking whether or not he actually wants to hear his fortune. Unlike the scam artists back home, this guy clearly has access to real magic. As a Monster, Stiles can’t determine if that magic is being used appropriately here – but he knows divination is a legitimate specialization taught by the Coven. In an attempt to change the subject, he places the bowl of jellied eel on the table and pushes it toward the man. ]

Here. Let go of my hand and I’ll go get you a clean fork. It’s not like I’m going to eat the rest.