[ 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
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. ]