I'm pushy, because I'd like to eat... unlike you, who seems reluctant.
(what a loser... can't even choke down a jellied eel. hei tugs his arm forward a bit more, but is understandably careful with his client's hand. it's turned so that his palm aims skyward, leaning in a fraction; his lines are easy to make out, but it won't be creases in skin he'll be reading. with a low sink of eyelids and a soft mutter of a spell, fingers scarred by thin, white lines squeeze gently as he casts his divination magic.
looking directly at it is inadvisable, liable to leave awful sunspots in the vision. the silver light is as bright as a burning filament of magnesium, white hot and yet not burning where it should. stiles' vaguest impression of the world around him is read—a skeptic's dream.)
Hm.
...
You won't like what I have to say. You've got terrible luck.
[ 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.
(stiles may have every intention of retreating for a fork, but the moment that eel is pushed forward it's grabbed and guided closer. hei's already watched him take a bite, he's waited for the negative side effects, and it appears as though there's no poison or taint to the meal—evidently, that's all the contractor needs to take up the used utensil and shovel the food into his mouth.
it's still hot; better than the twenty cunes in his tin. instant satisfaction, but still a tortured kind that'll cramp his stomach later. he hasn't eaten in what feels like days, obvious by how quickly hei polishes the bowl off.
tongues his upper lip, dark eyes unblinking as they aim across the table.)
[ Mouth parted on a response that never gets verbalized, Stiles can only watch as the stranger summarily decimates the bowl. The sight is somehow disgusting, impressive, and tragic all at once. He can’t decide if he thinks the man is really that big a fan of jellied eel or that hungry. The latter possibility has him fidgeting in the seat, restless with a misplaced sense of guilt. ]
Uh, for the record… [ For once, he pauses – reevaluating whether his unsolicited advice and statistics, this time about the benefits of eating slowly, will be at all appreciated. ] …Never mind. Do you want another bowl?
[ Charitable isn’t a word people would normally use to describe Stiles, for good reason. But he knows his dad would never walk away from someone this obviously hungry, which is enough to prompt him to try and help. ]
Maybe something else? [ he ventures, because listening to the guy eat those eels was repulsive. ] They have good mince pies here.
(his stare doesn't move, fixed on stiles, even after considering the offer.) What do you want? (a question that might've been anticipated from someone with obvious trust issues; stiles has dealt with skeptics and knows his way around them by now, having met so many.
there's no such thing as a free lunch. something's always given—or taken—back.)
[ A shiver of unease crawls up his spine. It isn’t often Stiles loses a tacit staring contest, but that intense, dead gaze is unnerving enough to have him averting his eyes. ]
I wanna be able to sit for a little while without listening to some guy’s stomach growling, [ he says flippantly, because – whether or not it’s more believable – he’s not comfortable admitting the sympathy he feels for a stranger. ] Mince pie. Yay or nay? But in return, I get to stay here for a bit. Capeesh?
(only when stiles looks away does he follow suit, glancing down at the tin where his cunes lie. there's only so much money for food and water, and the cost of things around them makes it all seem like loose change. but why fuel himself anymore than he needs to? why sustain a body he should've let die years ago?
there's a noncommittal grunt at stiles' prompts; hei rises in his seat instead of voicing his concerns. better to go with him, he decides, a man who appreciates watching his food be made, grabbing the can between them to pocket what's inside.)
Fine, then. I won't say no. (a 'shff' as the velvet curtain is tugged closed. he'll emerge from the booth and appear beside the teenager's chair, which makes it far easier to spot the straps hugging his waist and thighs.) Why stay, when there are more convenient places to sit? I find it hard to believe it's because you're tired from the day.
[ The man stands unexpectedly and Stiles stiffens, expression going guarded immediately. He’s always possessed an uncanny instinct for recognizing dangerous people and his gut advises him to exercise extreme caution around this individual. As soon as the curtain drops between them, he’s springing up from the chair with the skittish energy of a prey animal. When the Witch joins him on the opposite side of the booth, he makes no attempt to conceal the assessing sweep of his eyes, noting those straps and the impressive blades holstered there. This man is unusually armed for a mere fortune teller. But the modern material of the outfit provides Stiles with the information he needs: The Witch is undoubtedly a Mirrorbound. ]
Then don’t believe it. [ He shrugs, leaning forward to grab the wooden bowl off the booth table so he can return it to a food stall. ] You’re new, right?
[ Stiles may not have met every established Mirrorbound in the city, but he’s seen most of them in passing or on the network. It makes it easier to identify the newbies. ]
(stiles takes a good, long look and hei waits for him to finish. there's not a hell of a lot to hide here, despite his reluctance to share information about himself. from just a glance, the teenager will be able to glean all that he should from his weapons and posture... and that's enough.
when he moves for the bowl, hei shoves the cloak's hood away from his hair to gather at his shoulders and steps back to allow him to lead. it's he who knows where they're going, and it seems as though he's been here for some time if he's easily able to guess at who's fresh out of a mirror. it's been a few hours, still acclimating to even being around so many people and almost forgetting to reply when they set out for the mince pie.)
Ah, I stepped through a shop window. Or something like that. (they weren't impressed. watching the crowd, he keeps stiles in his peripheral.) But I'm no soothsayer, since you're asking. Fortune is just a matter of guesswork.
Tell me how long you've been here... and your name.
[ After the closet debacle with Itachi, he knows better now than to find a crowded, public space like this one reassuring. The bowl is tucked under his arm as he guides them through the market, similarly trying to keep an eye on Hei that’s equal parts curious and wary. ]
Bossy much? [ he remarks airily, stumbling a bit after being jostled roughly by other pedestrians. ] Pretty rude to demand my name without offering yours first.
[ Not that he actually minds. Stiles takes a moment to ensure he wasn’t pickpocketed before continuing on, this time using the trichobothria to help him avoid future collisions. ]
You can call me Stiles. And I’ve been here long enough. [ Frowning, he scrutinizes the other man in the daylight. ] Anyway, you did magic back there, right? Was it just a generic mini-light show for effect?
(closes his eyes, no remark for "bossy" or "rude." if the shoe fits, man.)
Stiles. My name is Hei. (with a raise of his shoulder to avoid stiles as he staggers, finding any potential contact unappealing. his attention falls to his benefactor's legs, monitoring his walk until satisfied he won't be roaming into his personal space.) And that was divination; aren't you familiar with this place's schools of magic?
My setup may be a crock, but my ability isn't. Like I said, it's guesswork. Of sorts.
[ Amazingly, he manages to restrain himself from making a “hay is for horses” joke. ]
I know the different schools of magic. [ In fact, he’s made a point to try and sit in on at least one class a week at the Coven, just to understand what Witches are capable of. ] But when you said that fortune is just guesswork, I figured you weren’t actually putting any real effort into it.
[ There’s a food stall up ahead that he makes a beeline for, though a line of three people means they’re in for a short wait. Sidling around the queue, he deposits the bowl on the counter and then rejoins Hei at the back of the line. ]
Okay, so. What does your divination magic tell you about a person when you do your gig and how do you translate that into a fortune?
That was a mistake. Guessing takes as much skill as knowing, maybe more. (he's not one to brag, so he offers his understanding of things which sounds awfully similar.) Our conclusions are always based off of something.
(hei is alone for a moment as stiles returns the bowl and takes this time to look around. the city is small compared to the ones he's lived in and visited, old-fashioned buildings with open-minded people. it's a strange quality. stiles seems well-versed in the goings-on, but his curiosity is already a thorn beginning to fester. it'll have to be shut down.
when stiles returns, hei is quick to raise a dismissive hand and steps forward to avoid a large minotaur-like creature crossing through gaps in their line.) That's not for you to know. You can accept the fortune I have for you, or forget we met. It's your decision to make. (his attention trails after the beast, mind clearly fighting his acceptance of it.)
[ While he returns the bowl, he mulls over what the man said. “That was a mistake.” See, he can’t help but reflect on the fact that most people would have corrected the misunderstanding without further pointing it out. Hei apparently has no such qualms; it seems like a significant example of the personality Stiles is dealing with here. Upon returning to the end of the line, he unthinkingly heeds the hand and stops short of where he intended. Though it becomes obvious that Hei isn’t accustomed to seeing creatures like the Monster, Stiles has to grumpily admit that the young man is handling the culture shock relatively well. ]
I guess the meat’s just another decision I’ll have to make, [ comes the sarcastic response, paired with an eye roll. ] For you? Let’s say mystery meat.
[ As tempting as it would be to order a mince pie with mystery meat for this guy, who rubs Stiles wrong in every direction, he’s not actually annoyed enough to do so. Yet. Beef is the kinder option. ]
It isn't. You can leave me to make the choice for myself; just foot the bill.
(look, he hasn't spoken to a human being who doesn't want to see his head mounted on their wall in weeks. so if his manners are poor, then there's a reason for it.
hei steps up when the witchy woman in front of them busies herself with her order, eavesdropping on the toppings she's smooth-talking out of the stall owner who seems rather smitten with his regular customer. clever girl. two helpings of mince pie sound better than one, but he lacks the feminine wiles—instead, his arm opens to invite stiles to deal with him and watches them be served like a hawk.)
[ The balls on this guy… Mouth pressed in a flat, unimpressed line, Stiles glances askance at Hei. ]
Okay, let me make sure I’m getting this right. You refuse to explain how your divination magic works and basically tell me to take it or leave it, then turn around and make demands about what food I buy you with my own money while expecting me to tell you what kind of Monster I am.
[ Chewing a wad of tobacco slowly like a cow with cud, the stall owner watches them in curious silence. His previous customer, the smooth-talking woman, is also doing a poor job at hiding the fact that she’s listening in. Stiles ignores them. ]
(side-eyes stiles as he sums up the past few minutes, but most of what he hears is a muted droning. distantly, hei wonders what language he's speaking. he seems american, of course that's a default assumption he tends to make; he could be european.
not much to go on.
he's turned sometime during stiles' final words, but his response is incredibly delayed. this makes his gaze linger, silence pervasive in a line that's begun muttering at the hold up, more than a few seconds before it drops and angles away.)
Yeah, you got it... is there some kind of problem here, or should I order?
[ The pregnant pause that follows his summary – with Hei staring at him like an absolute creep – has Stiles reaching an abrupt, final conclusion. Something is off about this guy; do not interact. For once in his life, common sense wins over curiosity. He wordlessly turns away from the young man to address the food stall owner, ordering a mince pie with beef. After paying for the pie, he gestures for Hei to approach the stall counter and wait for it to be prepared. ]
Enjoy.
[ The word is uttered with flat disinterest, his only farewell as Stiles exits the line and begins walking in the direction opposite of the fortune teller booth. Talking to Hei has left him feeling crabby and unsettled. The less time spent in the other man’s presence, the better. He should be sleeping at this hour anyway. And so, Stiles determines to do just as Hei suggested: forget they met. ]
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no subject
(what a loser... can't even choke down a jellied eel. hei tugs his arm forward a bit more, but is understandably careful with his client's hand. it's turned so that his palm aims skyward, leaning in a fraction; his lines are easy to make out, but it won't be creases in skin he'll be reading. with a low sink of eyelids and a soft mutter of a spell, fingers scarred by thin, white lines squeeze gently as he casts his divination magic.
looking directly at it is inadvisable, liable to leave awful sunspots in the vision. the silver light is as bright as a burning filament of magnesium, white hot and yet not burning where it should. stiles' vaguest impression of the world around him is read—a skeptic's dream.)
Hm.
...
You won't like what I have to say. You've got terrible luck.
no subject
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.
no subject
(stiles may have every intention of retreating for a fork, but the moment that eel is pushed forward it's grabbed and guided closer. hei's already watched him take a bite, he's waited for the negative side effects, and it appears as though there's no poison or taint to the meal—evidently, that's all the contractor needs to take up the used utensil and shovel the food into his mouth.
it's still hot; better than the twenty cunes in his tin. instant satisfaction, but still a tortured kind that'll cramp his stomach later. he hasn't eaten in what feels like days, obvious by how quickly hei polishes the bowl off.
tongues his upper lip, dark eyes unblinking as they aim across the table.)
Thanks.
no subject
Uh, for the record… [ For once, he pauses – reevaluating whether his unsolicited advice and statistics, this time about the benefits of eating slowly, will be at all appreciated. ] …Never mind. Do you want another bowl?
[ Charitable isn’t a word people would normally use to describe Stiles, for good reason. But he knows his dad would never walk away from someone this obviously hungry, which is enough to prompt him to try and help. ]
Maybe something else? [ he ventures, because listening to the guy eat those eels was repulsive. ] They have good mince pies here.
no subject
there's no such thing as a free lunch. something's always given—or taken—back.)
You want something done?
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I wanna be able to sit for a little while without listening to some guy’s stomach growling, [ he says flippantly, because – whether or not it’s more believable – he’s not comfortable admitting the sympathy he feels for a stranger. ] Mince pie. Yay or nay? But in return, I get to stay here for a bit. Capeesh?
no subject
there's a noncommittal grunt at stiles' prompts; hei rises in his seat instead of voicing his concerns. better to go with him, he decides, a man who appreciates watching his food be made, grabbing the can between them to pocket what's inside.)
Fine, then. I won't say no. (a 'shff' as the velvet curtain is tugged closed. he'll emerge from the booth and appear beside the teenager's chair, which makes it far easier to spot the straps hugging his waist and thighs.) Why stay, when there are more convenient places to sit? I find it hard to believe it's because you're tired from the day.
no subject
Then don’t believe it. [ He shrugs, leaning forward to grab the wooden bowl off the booth table so he can return it to a food stall. ] You’re new, right?
[ Stiles may not have met every established Mirrorbound in the city, but he’s seen most of them in passing or on the network. It makes it easier to identify the newbies. ]
Why fortune telling? You do this back home?
no subject
when he moves for the bowl, hei shoves the cloak's hood away from his hair to gather at his shoulders and steps back to allow him to lead. it's he who knows where they're going, and it seems as though he's been here for some time if he's easily able to guess at who's fresh out of a mirror. it's been a few hours, still acclimating to even being around so many people and almost forgetting to reply when they set out for the mince pie.)
Ah, I stepped through a shop window. Or something like that. (they weren't impressed. watching the crowd, he keeps stiles in his peripheral.) But I'm no soothsayer, since you're asking. Fortune is just a matter of guesswork.
Tell me how long you've been here... and your name.
no subject
Bossy much? [ he remarks airily, stumbling a bit after being jostled roughly by other pedestrians. ] Pretty rude to demand my name without offering yours first.
[ Not that he actually minds. Stiles takes a moment to ensure he wasn’t pickpocketed before continuing on, this time using the trichobothria to help him avoid future collisions. ]
You can call me Stiles. And I’ve been here long enough. [ Frowning, he scrutinizes the other man in the daylight. ] Anyway, you did magic back there, right? Was it just a generic mini-light show for effect?
no subject
(closes his eyes, no remark for "bossy" or "rude." if the shoe fits, man.)
Stiles. My name is Hei. (with a raise of his shoulder to avoid stiles as he staggers, finding any potential contact unappealing. his attention falls to his benefactor's legs, monitoring his walk until satisfied he won't be roaming into his personal space.) And that was divination; aren't you familiar with this place's schools of magic?
My setup may be a crock, but my ability isn't. Like I said, it's guesswork. Of sorts.
no subject
I know the different schools of magic. [ In fact, he’s made a point to try and sit in on at least one class a week at the Coven, just to understand what Witches are capable of. ] But when you said that fortune is just guesswork, I figured you weren’t actually putting any real effort into it.
[ There’s a food stall up ahead that he makes a beeline for, though a line of three people means they’re in for a short wait. Sidling around the queue, he deposits the bowl on the counter and then rejoins Hei at the back of the line. ]
Okay, so. What does your divination magic tell you about a person when you do your gig and how do you translate that into a fortune?
no subject
(hei is alone for a moment as stiles returns the bowl and takes this time to look around. the city is small compared to the ones he's lived in and visited, old-fashioned buildings with open-minded people. it's a strange quality. stiles seems well-versed in the goings-on, but his curiosity is already a thorn beginning to fester. it'll have to be shut down.
when stiles returns, hei is quick to raise a dismissive hand and steps forward to avoid a large minotaur-like creature crossing through gaps in their line.) That's not for you to know. You can accept the fortune I have for you, or forget we met. It's your decision to make. (his attention trails after the beast, mind clearly fighting his acceptance of it.)
... what meat is in the mince pies?
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I guess the meat’s just another decision I’ll have to make, [ comes the sarcastic response, paired with an eye roll. ] For you? Let’s say mystery meat.
[ As tempting as it would be to order a mince pie with mystery meat for this guy, who rubs Stiles wrong in every direction, he’s not actually annoyed enough to do so. Yet. Beef is the kinder option. ]
no subject
(look, he hasn't spoken to a human being who doesn't want to see his head mounted on their wall in weeks. so if his manners are poor, then there's a reason for it.
hei steps up when the witchy woman in front of them busies herself with her order, eavesdropping on the toppings she's smooth-talking out of the stall owner who seems rather smitten with his regular customer. clever girl. two helpings of mince pie sound better than one, but he lacks the feminine wiles—instead, his arm opens to invite stiles to deal with him and watches them be served like a hawk.)
What sort of creature will you be, then?
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Okay, let me make sure I’m getting this right. You refuse to explain how your divination magic works and basically tell me to take it or leave it, then turn around and make demands about what food I buy you with my own money while expecting me to tell you what kind of Monster I am.
[ Chewing a wad of tobacco slowly like a cow with cud, the stall owner watches them in curious silence. His previous customer, the smooth-talking woman, is also doing a poor job at hiding the fact that she’s listening in. Stiles ignores them. ]
no subject
not much to go on.
he's turned sometime during stiles' final words, but his response is incredibly delayed. this makes his gaze linger, silence pervasive in a line that's begun muttering at the hold up, more than a few seconds before it drops and angles away.)
Yeah, you got it... is there some kind of problem here, or should I order?
no subject
Enjoy.
[ The word is uttered with flat disinterest, his only farewell as Stiles exits the line and begins walking in the direction opposite of the fortune teller booth. Talking to Hei has left him feeling crabby and unsettled. The less time spent in the other man’s presence, the better. He should be sleeping at this hour anyway. And so, Stiles determines to do just as Hei suggested: forget they met. ]