originallutece | (no subject)

Adderall. It's used to treat ADHD. Which this hypothetical-person-who-is-not-me has in this hypothetical situation.

If you know the chemical composition, then yes, I can make it for you.

I assume that was the question?

Wait, really?

You're not gonna give me some "Stiles, that's illegal, why would you even ask that, you're a terrible person how does your father sleep at night" lecture or anything?

No.

You're asking me to make you medication, not cocaine. Rest assured, the latter would cost you much, much more.

I mean, both are illegal? One moreso than the other in this context but you're kind of a lifesaver right now and I'm not a narc, so.

How much is this gonna cost me, by the way? I can pay. How do you feel about payment plans? Cause back home my meds were mostly covered by insurance and I never really paid attention to the cost without it and I don't imagine you accept Blue Cross.

Edited 2018-11-04 04:36 (UTC)

You're going to assist me. And you're going to buy the supplies we need. If they're too expensive, let me know; we can work something out.

I feel like I should mention here that the only ingestible thing I've ever really made in a lab is rocky candy? And also that I have no idea where I'm supposed to get the stuff that makes up Adderall without somebody throwing up a couple red flags.

You'll be following my direction, not leading the way. All you have to do is what I say.

Do you think you can do that?

Yeah, definitely. Probably?

Yes.

Good. Then you have three days to gather the ingredients; we'll begin that morning at ten AM. Is that agreeable to you?

That's great. Honestly, thank you so much.

You're welcome.

[She has three days, then, to figure out how to make what he asks for. She doesn't bother to do it alone; she peppers him with questions on how it works and what it's meant to do; how large a dose he'd taken and what sorts of effects he valued the most. She wants as much information as she can. She's certain she can do what he asks, but how long it takes will depend upon how well she knows what she's going to be making.

Still: she's fairly confident when he knocks at her door and comes in. They might not get it at the first try, but she's sure they'll get it before the day ends.

She works him hard. But to be fair, she works herself hard too; they move about the laboratory quickly, combining chemicals in certain kinds of way, dousing the pills in certain vats to test whether the combinations have come out correctly. They try again and again, until at last Rosalind nods in satisfaction.

It's a messy looking thing, but she made it to work, not to look pretty.]

Try it.

[ in hindsight, stiles probably should have asked for her help sooner instead of waiting until he was two doses away from running out of his meds to start worrying about how the hell he was going to get more. it's not as if the city doesn't provide nearly everything he could ever need, medications included — it's that he doesn't trust it. the city, the locals. for all he knows (which is not a lot about this place, and that's frustrating), they could use his diagnosis to their advantage, lace his shit with something to make him more... obedient. compliant. more receptive to his role here and what's expected of him.

as it stands, he's missed a couple doses by the third day. for the most part, he's generally unconcerned. it's fine. he's gone a couple days without his meds before, usually due to extenuating circumstances, understandable distractions, etc. it's not anything he can't handle short-term, but it does mean he's not at the top of his game. it'll bother him later.

still, he follows direction easily with only a few mild and minor distractions. he works hard to stay focused, maybe chatters a little too much sometimes about shit that's seemingly unrelated, but somehow he always manages to circle back to something relevant, and he gets frustrated only once, over something minor, to the point that he needs to take a quick break to settle so they can keep going.

by the end of it, stiles is just— tired, and kind of hopeful, kind of proud, even though he's not sure yet if they've actually figured it out. admittedly, he's a little paranoid, too. his dad would probably kill him if he knew he'd been making drugs in a lab, even if it's for his own benefit. maybe his dad won't have to kill him, if the pill doesn't kill him first. ]

Uh, [ he says, looking at the messy little thing they've made. ] Yeah. Just— just a sec.

[ stiles fishes his phone out of his pocket, sends scott a quick text (made some adderall, could be badderall, please make sure i'm still alive in 24 hours), tucks his phone away.

he looks up at rosalind, reaches out with a careful hand, hesitates. ]

... It's not gonna work, like, instantly. If it works.

Then you'll stay for a bit, until we're certain that it both works and that there's no side-effects.

[She has that Ipecac Syrup ready on hand, after all. Rosalind sighs as she takes a seat, some of her tiredness finally allowed to creep up into her frame. She has a bad habit of working too long on too few hours of sleep; it's even worse here.]

We can-- oh, I don't know. Take in a movie or something.

[ stiles hand falls short, his middle and index finger tapping out a quick, sporadic rhythm. this is probably not a good idea for more reason than stiles actually wants to consider. it's not that he doesn't trust rosalind to know what she's doing, because he does. from what he can tell, she's incredibly intelligent. a batch of prescription medication seems like it should be nothing in comparison to floating countries and parallel universes.

it doesn't mean stiles isn't paranoid about it. it's in his nature to question things, to cast doubt where others refuse to, to remain skeptical because trusting blindly always seems to land his friends in trouble. rosalind is... well, stiles likes her, if he's honest. she's interesting and straightforward and surprisingly easy to get along with, but none of that means she's trustworthy. none of that means she couldn't or wouldn't pull one over on him.

stiles presses his lips together, thinks of scott, and how easily he trusts that people, for the most part, are good. he thinks of how all of his friendships nearly fell apart not too long ago, half of them because stiles wasn't sure if he could trust them, if he could trust himself.

rosalind seems... nice. she seems good. scott would probably like her, and that's enough for now to convince stiles to just pick the damn pill up. he glances up, wets his lips again, absently rolls the pill between his fingertips. ]

Just - curious: what kind of side-effects are you maybe expecting might... occur. Outside of the typical list of fifty-things-that-are-probably-worse-than-your-ailment. [ he doesn't wait for her answer, though, and just tips his head back, dumps the pill into his mouth, and swallows it dry. probably not the best idea, but.

neither is making adderall in lab. ]

[Rosalind is not nice. Rosalind is not good. But nor is Rosalind sadistic or cruel-- and more to the point, nor are her intentions anything less than what he thinks they are. There's a vast difference between being cold and direct (which she is) and taking gleeful pleasure in someone's pain (which she does, but only when they deserve it). So he'll be perfectly safe as he pops that pill, though she pulls a face as he does it dry.]

A sore throat, for starters. Honestly, the sink is not a room away.

[But that's very mild chiding, spoken as she watches him carefully. There doesn't seem to be any immediate adverse effects, which is good.]

A mild sense of euphoria. A headache or stomachache. Possibly some nausea.

[It's the first one she's expecting, honestly, although she'll make note of any he complains about. This is only batch one; she'll improve the longer she does this.]

Come sit.

[There's a couch, albeit surrounded by lab equipment. There's a few books scattered around, though given the nature of this city, their subjects all tend to veer in one particular direction.]

[ when compared to the number of actually-shitty people stiles has had the great displeasure of running into, rosalind is an angel. one who led him into an alley way once and left him cuff-free but with weird feelings— one who makes prescription drugs in a makeshift lab probably with no actual clearance or authority to do so, but. all of that is neither here nor there and stiles wouldn't really have the attention span to argue any of it, anyway.

he shrugs off the gentle chiding, mostly because there's no point in arguing about that, either. what's done is done, the pill is gone, and stiles is more concerned about what could happen to him on the highly-unlikely but still not impossible chance they got this very wrong. so far, the possibilities seem tame. on par, really, with side effects he's experienced before on his actual meds.

well, not the euphoria, really, but that hardly seems alarming. it could be worse. ]

So, the youge, [ he says it casually, mouth turned down a little as he shrugs. youge, short for usual, probably. ] Minus the... euphoria. That could be— well, not terrible.

[ stiles smiles a little, huffs a small laugh. he doesn't make to move right away, though, just standing there, one hand on his hip, tongue pressing into the space between his bottom teeth and his cheek.

he's restless, and kind of annoyed with himself for it, which just makes him kind of anxious. it's a vicious cycle, and he is aware, and he convinces himself to sit down and just... let whatever happens happen.

stiles rests his hands on his thighs, slides his palms up to his knees and then back down, like he's wiping them off. for a moment, he just sits there, his left thumb lifting and lowering in the slowest of taps against his leg. ]

Is that— [ he says rather suddenly, lifting his hand off his leg so he can pick at his jaw for a second before splaying his hand out lazily. it would seem he's jumping back in the conversation a little. ] I've never heard anyone say that before. 'Take in' a movie.

[She lifts a shoulder.]

We don't have them properly, not when I'm from. We had-- oh, nickelodeons, really, short films, but those were for promotional pieces, not like the ones you have here. They were silent things.

[ stiles sinks down a little, seems to relax just slightly, turns his head a bit so he can look at rosalind. he seems a little amused. ]

Nickelodeon is actually like, the name of a whole channel now. When... [ he pauses, only because it's weird to say ] I'm from, anyway. Also maybe where I'm from? I dunno.

[ also a weird thing to consider. weird and interesting, but not the strangest thing he's had to consider the possibility of, by far. ]

I honestly thought that word was made up until... just now.

Today has been beneficial in more than one way, then, hasn't it?

[Dryly said, as she settles back and regards him. It's a little odd to be sitting on a couch with a boy at least ten years younger than her, but not entirely unpleasant. He's clever, and she always values cleverness.]

You've learnt how to surpass a pharmacy and you've learned something about the nineteen hundreds. Next, perhaps, we'll work on dressing you properly.

[ stiles' mouth drops open a little and he just... blinks at her, for a solid few seconds, like she's just committed the greatest offense against his person. after a moment, he closes his mouth, teeth clicking quietly. ]

What? [ the disbelief! the audacity! his brow furrow slightly, and he leans his chin forward a little, nose wrinkled slightly as he plucks at the front of his dark blue-green flannel, unbuttoned so the graphic tee (advertising some kind of soda stiles has never heard of before) is on display as well. ] I know it's not a—

[ he lets go of the front of his shirt to wave his hand uselessly as he tries to think of the fashions, in general, in the 1900s. it's a struggle at best, but he's not entirely clueless ]

— a three piece suit with like, a waistcoat and everything, but plaid is very 'in' in this century. It's the in thing. Even Scott wears plaid now, like, all the time. Seriously, all of my shirts keep going missing more and more frequently and what do you know? Scott.

Stiles, your justification is that it's popular, and therefore it must look good. That's a very poor rationale.

[She says it coolly, her eyes studying the graphic on his shirt for a few moments before meeting his gaze again.]

You'd do well in a waistcoat.

[ he holds up both hands as if to say, no no, hold on, wait, brows lifting a little. ]

No, what I'm saying is I've been wearing plaid since before it was... cool. And now it's cool, sooo [ he drags out the vowel, like he's expecting her to understand the conclusion he's drawing here, but he continues on anyway ], you could say I set the trend. I am a trend-setter.

[ false. he doesn't really seem all that serious about it though. he drops his hands, shrugs his shoulders, blows out a heavy sigh through his nose. ]

Anyway, the closest I've come to wearing anything even close to a waistcoat is when my dad let me wear his bullet-proof vest for like thirty seconds when I was, like, twelve. It was too big and heavy and uncomfortable, and basically I'm not into waistcoats. [ the briefest pause for consideration. ] On me.

But on others?

[She caught that, thank you. And though she's wearing a blouse now, it's not as if a vest was a foreign part of her wardrobe. Or, hell, perhaps he means that he enjoys them on men; it's not as if this city cares about what people like.]

[ who the hell knows if stiles even knows what he means. he shrugs again, his expression somewhat thoughtful. ]

I mean... sure? [ truthfully, he hasn't actually seen a whole lot of people wearing waistcoats in real life. the last time was probably at winter formal in his sophomore year, and his memories of that dance are a little tainted with darker shit so if he did happen to catch a glance of someone in waistcoat, he most certainly does not remember or care. before that, maybe at his mother's funeral, but for similar reasons, he also does not remember. ] I always thought they seemed kind of hot.

[ stiles pauses to swallow, scrunching his nose a little. absently, he brings his fist up, presses the side of it to his mouth briefly, then drops his hand again. after a second, he blinks, then jumps to clarify. ]

As in temperature. Hot as in. Temperature. Like you've got the dress shirt and then the vest and then maybe a jacket on top of that. Side note: feeling a little bit nauseated.

[ which is no cause for alarm and kind of what he would expect from his regular script, and he knows that, but that doesn't stop him from feeling a little anxious about it because it's not his regular prescription so. it's probably nothing. probably. maybe. it's fine. ]