[ He stumbles back, arms windmilling for balance automatically. What does it say about his life that he’s been in this exact position a hundred times before, always getting shoved around like his worth is less than garbage? A pale shadow of fury twists his countenance, but he can’t hang onto it. Episodes of somnambulism leave him drained. It doesn’t help that he was only two hours into his sleep cycle; Stiles needs rest. ]
I didn’t volunteer for anything! I was asleep.
[ Though it may seem like a bizarre claim, Stiles is in his pajamas: a soft, faded t-shirt and loose pair of sweatpants, barefoot. After scrubbing his eyes with a hand, he looks around them – really looks this time – to get an idea of the situation. ]
God, what the hell’s going on? [ he asks, bewildered by the sight of more people lining up to jump the bonfire. ] Is this some kind of satanic ritual!? It’s way too early for this.
[In the face of that bizarre statement Cain watches the boy, dog ears flat to his skull and bushy tail twitching irritably against the back of his legs. It feels to him like a genuine reaction paired with that outward appearance, though it does nothing to mute his natural suspicion.]
You ended up here asleep, [he snarls, teeth bared.] Are you serious? Who does that?
[Whether a flimsy excuse or a sincere condition, Cain huffs, crossing both arms over his bare chest.]
It's a festival for some local holiday, I guess. They call it Boaltinn. [While the crowd's attention shifts elsewhere, he takes a step back over to the vibrant bonfire and extends a hand — passing fingers harmlessly through the edge of hot flames.] They said these necklaces were enchanted so it wouldn't burn, and jumping through is supposed to erase bad relationships or whatever. I didn't give a shit about that, I just thought it sounded fun.
[ “Who does that?” Someone with a medical condition, he thinks sourly, but opts to keep the thought to himself. Somnambulism is dangerous enough as it is; there’s no need for Stiles to explain to a stranger that he suffers from a sleep disorder, one which leaves him helplessly vulnerable. Huffing, he mimics the young man’s body language by folding his own arms over his chest. When Cain steps back to the bonfire and runs a hand through the flames, Stiles tenses. And yet the dog Turnskin continues to be unaffected. ]
I knew it was Boaltinn, [ he admits, inspecting the pendant necklace he’d been given. ] First time I’m hearing about this tradition, though…
[ Frowning, he peers down at the pendant as if he were a Witch capable of studying the magic it's imbued with. After a moment, he decisively tucks it away beneath his t-shirt. Like hell he’s giving it back. Maybe Jonas can figure out how to keep the enchantment up over time. It’ll definitely be useful, especially given his particular weaknesses as an Arachne. ]
If you aren’t familiar with the holidays, you must be Mirrorbound. [ Eyes narrowed, he squints skeptically at Cain. ] “I just thought it sounded fun,” [ he parrots in a mocking imitation of the man’s voice. ] Who does that? New dimension, hey let’s go jump through fire because why not? Dude.
Dunno what a Mirrorbound is, but yeah, I crashed through some lady's mirror yesterday night. She was banging this huge freakish lizard guy, kinda thought I was on drugs at first.
[Or dead, but this he doesn't say. Just as Stiles keeps his own secret vulnerability to himself, Cain feels no comfort in sharing his personal circumstances with a stranger.] Guess everyone's in a festive spirit, huh?
C'mon, it was fun, you telling me you didn't like it? That rush?
[His mouth spreads in a dark, fanged grin. He seems to have forgotten all about Stiles' transgression.]
[ Right now, Stiles is staring at the Turnskin like he strongly suspects Cain actually is on drugs. ]
A rush? What are you, twenty going on thirteen?
[ In spite of his disdainful incredulity, the question about cigarettes prompts him to pick at the collar of his shirt, sniffing the fabric doubtfully. ]
Do I smell like cigarettes? He told me he wouldn’t smoke in the house. [ Jonas, you got some ‘splainin to do! ] Give me your necklace and I’ll consider showing you where you can get some.
[A roll of eyes answers that first question. Then it levels out, brow pinching and ghost of a grin vanishing off his mouth.]
You think I'm an idiot? This thing could buy me a hundred cigs. It's magic. Fuck that, I'll walk around until I find somewhere.
[He hooks his fingers into the jewelry's silver chain, swinging the ruby pendant on it, then curling it up in a tight fist. Yellow eyes continue surveying Stiles - the signs of fatigue, the clothing.]
You look like you're gonna pass out on the street. You seriously walked all the way here asleep? How come you didn't wake up?
[ There’s no way he’s sharing details about his sleep walking with a stranger, so he dismisses that subject with a curt wave of his hand. ]
Um, hello? Newsflash, bud. This entire city and half its population are magic. You seriously think a dinky pendant that they’re passing out for free is going to be worth anything to most buyers? [ Raspberry noise. ] Fat chance. You’ll be lucky if you get five cunes trading it in. On the other hand, it’d actually be useful for my newbie Witch friend to study.
[ Sorry, Jonas. He doesn’t actually think you’re a newbie. ]
Whatever. Suit yourself. Hope those fantasy hundred cigs keep you warm when night falls.
[ And Stiles makes a show of checking his comm watch, which he's hoping Cain hasn't received yet, bringing up the map (HIS MAP) to figure out where the hell in the city he is. ]
[Scowling in the face of that (logical, reasonable) argument, Cain drops the necklace from his fist.]
Screw that. If I can't sell it, I'll use it.
[It's said mostly to himself as he turns half-away, narrow eyed and huffy. As much as he may be craving nicotine, it's worth the small sacrifice, if it means he'll have fire protection. No way is he giving that up.
Cain is prepared to walk away when he catches a glimpse of the face of that device.]
Hey, where'd you get a map? [Enjoy a buff, bare-chested man crowding in to look at it.] My shit didn't come with one.
[ Well, so much for his bluff. This guy seems determined to hang on to the necklace. Stiles could always try to lift it, but the Turnskin is still wearing it; he doesn’t have nearly enough experience with pickpocketing to attempt a stunt so bold. Still, he’s a little peeved by the fact a temporary newbie is getting such a useful item. With an internal huff of irritation, he forces himself to let go of the idea. No need to get possessive over an enchantment Jonas can definitely figure out. ]
Dude, give me some breathing room, [ comes the grumpy complaint. ] You smell like wet dog.
[ Patently false. Stiles is just being a brat now. ]
And it’s my map. I took a picture of it with the watch when I first arrived.
[Let other people have nice things every once in a while.]
You smell like dirt and sweat, so we're even. [This comes with a flashy grin, determinedly not moving away. He has no issue with personal space, and in fact has employed lesser means as an intimidation tactic in other, similarly petty scenarios.
Also, he doesn't know what 'wet dog' smells like, let alone much of anything about animals... even if the insulting context is transparent.] I'll just take a picture of yours. No big deal, c'mon. It'll take two seconds.
[ Why. Why must everyone insist that he smells like dirt. Stiles practices excellent personal hygiene. He showers every day. He brushes his teeth each morning and night. He wears deodorant. Why is this happening to him. Won’t someone tell him he smells like flowers instead!? ]
No, [ he snaps, hurriedly closing out of the image on his watch. ] I don’t like you.
[ As far as retorts go, this one is dated back to preschool era – but it’s true. ]
First you haul me through a BONFIRE. Next you yell at me and throw me around. Then you refuse to give up your necklace. You suck.
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no subject
I didn’t volunteer for anything! I was asleep.
[ Though it may seem like a bizarre claim, Stiles is in his pajamas: a soft, faded t-shirt and loose pair of sweatpants, barefoot. After scrubbing his eyes with a hand, he looks around them – really looks this time – to get an idea of the situation. ]
God, what the hell’s going on? [ he asks, bewildered by the sight of more people lining up to jump the bonfire. ] Is this some kind of satanic ritual!? It’s way too early for this.
[ It’s early afternoon. ]
no subject
You ended up here asleep, [he snarls, teeth bared.] Are you serious? Who does that?
[Whether a flimsy excuse or a sincere condition, Cain huffs, crossing both arms over his bare chest.]
It's a festival for some local holiday, I guess. They call it Boaltinn. [While the crowd's attention shifts elsewhere, he takes a step back over to the vibrant bonfire and extends a hand — passing fingers harmlessly through the edge of hot flames.] They said these necklaces were enchanted so it wouldn't burn, and jumping through is supposed to erase bad relationships or whatever. I didn't give a shit about that, I just thought it sounded fun.
no subject
I knew it was Boaltinn, [ he admits, inspecting the pendant necklace he’d been given. ] First time I’m hearing about this tradition, though…
[ Frowning, he peers down at the pendant as if he were a Witch capable of studying the magic it's imbued with. After a moment, he decisively tucks it away beneath his t-shirt. Like hell he’s giving it back. Maybe Jonas can figure out how to keep the enchantment up over time. It’ll definitely be useful, especially given his particular weaknesses as an Arachne. ]
If you aren’t familiar with the holidays, you must be Mirrorbound. [ Eyes narrowed, he squints skeptically at Cain. ] “I just thought it sounded fun,” [ he parrots in a mocking imitation of the man’s voice. ] Who does that? New dimension, hey let’s go jump through fire because why not? Dude.
[ Get judged, fuckboi. ]
no subject
[Or dead, but this he doesn't say. Just as Stiles keeps his own secret vulnerability to himself, Cain feels no comfort in sharing his personal circumstances with a stranger.] Guess everyone's in a festive spirit, huh?
C'mon, it was fun, you telling me you didn't like it? That rush?
[His mouth spreads in a dark, fanged grin. He seems to have forgotten all about Stiles' transgression.]
Hey, you know where I can get a cigarette?
no subject
A rush? What are you, twenty going on thirteen?
[ In spite of his disdainful incredulity, the question about cigarettes prompts him to pick at the collar of his shirt, sniffing the fabric doubtfully. ]
Do I smell like cigarettes? He told me he wouldn’t smoke in the house. [ Jonas, you got some ‘splainin to do! ] Give me your necklace and I’ll consider showing you where you can get some.
no subject
You think I'm an idiot? This thing could buy me a hundred cigs. It's magic. Fuck that, I'll walk around until I find somewhere.
[He hooks his fingers into the jewelry's silver chain, swinging the ruby pendant on it, then curling it up in a tight fist. Yellow eyes continue surveying Stiles - the signs of fatigue, the clothing.]
You look like you're gonna pass out on the street. You seriously walked all the way here asleep? How come you didn't wake up?
no subject
Um, hello? Newsflash, bud. This entire city and half its population are magic. You seriously think a dinky pendant that they’re passing out for free is going to be worth anything to most buyers? [ Raspberry noise. ] Fat chance. You’ll be lucky if you get five cunes trading it in. On the other hand, it’d actually be useful for my newbie Witch friend to study.
[ Sorry, Jonas. He doesn’t actually think you’re a newbie. ]
Whatever. Suit yourself. Hope those fantasy hundred cigs keep you warm when night falls.
[ And Stiles makes a show of checking his comm watch, which he's hoping Cain hasn't received yet, bringing up the map (HIS MAP) to figure out where the hell in the city he is. ]
no subject
Screw that. If I can't sell it, I'll use it.
[It's said mostly to himself as he turns half-away, narrow eyed and huffy. As much as he may be craving nicotine, it's worth the small sacrifice, if it means he'll have fire protection. No way is he giving that up.
Cain is prepared to walk away when he catches a glimpse of the face of that device.]
Hey, where'd you get a map? [Enjoy a buff, bare-chested man crowding in to look at it.] My shit didn't come with one.
no subject
Dude, give me some breathing room, [ comes the grumpy complaint. ] You smell like wet dog.
[ Patently false. Stiles is just being a brat now. ]
And it’s my map. I took a picture of it with the watch when I first arrived.
no subject
You smell like dirt and sweat, so we're even. [This comes with a flashy grin, determinedly not moving away. He has no issue with personal space, and in fact has employed lesser means as an intimidation tactic in other, similarly petty scenarios.
Also, he doesn't know what 'wet dog' smells like, let alone much of anything about animals... even if the insulting context is transparent.] I'll just take a picture of yours. No big deal, c'mon. It'll take two seconds.
no subject
No, [ he snaps, hurriedly closing out of the image on his watch. ] I don’t like you.
[ As far as retorts go, this one is dated back to preschool era – but it’s true. ]
First you haul me through a BONFIRE. Next you yell at me and throw me around. Then you refuse to give up your necklace. You suck.
[ Stiles is in desperate need of naptime. ]