originallutece | (no subject)

[It's not such a shock that trouble has reared its head again, not here, but still she feels herself tense up as he stands there. She hates not knowing things; better for her to have all the facts, no matter how awful, so she can plan on what to do next.]

What is it?

[ stiles' eyes shift over her quickly, darting from one point to the next as if he's making sure that's she all there or that she's solid. that in everything else that's happened to him since he arrived here in duplicity — the nogitsune, the kidnapping, dualcam — he doesn't have to worry about her, too.

because he would. it's just a relief that he doesn't have to right now.

stiles takes a second to try and calm himself down a little, his nerve-endings electric and his breathing just a tick quicker than usual. he blinks his eyes closed, keeps them closed for a beat, opens them again. ]

... I can't find Scott.

[ his best friend, practically his platonic soul mate. stiles has looked for him everywhere for the past 48 hours and hasn't been able to find him, hasn't been able to reach him by phone at all. by the looks of it, he's gotten very little sleep over the past two days. ]

. . . ah.

[On the one hand: it's sort of a relief to know that some people can and will leave. Of course, there's always the chance he's been killed, but Rosalind doubts that. There'd be noise about it. The police would mention it; it would be a whole case. Why wouldn't it? They're sadistic and intent on sex, but they seem to want to present some kind of false front. If a teenage boy, a boy who'd been playing along, had been murdered . . . they would have heard about it, she's sure.

So. He's gone. Left the same way he came, shoved back into his own universe. And while it's ostensibly a good thing, she can't imagine Stiles is at all relieved.]

. . . they might have sent him back, Stiles. It's the most likely explanation. Sending people through tears in the universe isn't hard, and they seem to have it down to a precise art.

But they can't just do that. [ he gestures with both hands, both arms, knees bending a little for a moment with the grandness of it. of course they can just do that — from what stiles has learned of this place and the people who run it, they can do whatever the hell they like. and stiles knows that, it's just.

he's not good at losing people. especially people he loves, like scott, and especially not when, back home, they'd only just pieced their friendship back together after theo so thoroughly and cruelly pulled them apart. of course this place is the last thing he'd wish on scott (well, it's near the bottom of the list, anyway), but that's not the point. the point is, scott was here, and they were together, and now they're not.

now stiles is alone, except not really. he's still got allison, which is still... weird, because she's technically dead back home and it's kind of, sort of his fault that she died. he's the reason scott lost her for good as far as he's concerned, and not scott isn't even here to take advantage of a second chance.

everything else is just... too selfish to consider right now, so he just doesn't let himself think about it.

stiles curls his fingers into loose fists, lifts one hand to press the side of his fist against his mouth, then lets his hand open so he can press it over his mouth, over his chin, breathing through his nose. ] They can't just— bring him here and toss him in the streets like a dog [ choice word, there ] and then just decide to send him back without—

[ me. but stiles catches himself quickly, doesn't even seem to stumble, just keeps going. ]

And I don't even get to say bye? I've been trying to find him for two days, and no one thought to say 'oh, hey, we're shipping your friend back, but you can keep the friggin—'

[ the nogitsune. the perpetual thorn in stiles' side and the source of like 90% of his anxiety and stress here in duplicity. this time, he bites his tongue, grits his teeth, looks away. ]

[She stares at him for a few seconds, her gaze as undecipherable as it ever is. She's listening, no doubt about it. She's taking note of every word he says, the anger and frustration in his voice (and beneath that, the shock and grief, the guilty mourning).

She has no real words for him. She isn't good at comforting, not really. But she tips her head, turning away.]

Come here.

[To the couch, she means, and she leads the way, sitting on one end. There's a few seconds of awkward silence, as she tries like hell to think of what she could say. She has a vague idea, but taking it from genesis to proper formation is much harder.]

My . . .

[Mmh.]

Robert, my-- my beloved and I, we've never been apart for more than a day.

[She says it slowly, her fingers sliding lightly against her thigh.]

Nearly twenty years, and we'd never wanted to be. And suddenly I woke here, and it was . . . unfathomable, really, that I had woken alone. He has always been at my side. I have always found him, or he has found me, but we've . . . it took us an enormous effort to be together. We were determined never to be parted.

[She glances up again, meeting his gaze. There's a hint of steel there, but it's not directed at him.]

It's like losing a limb. Isn't it? Something you knew you'd always have, suddenly gone.

[ stiles just stares after her as she moves away from him, feeling kind of... adrift. he's not sure what he expected her to say, if anything at all, or why he even came here of all places (but really, where else would he go, where else does he have, who else does he have here that truly means anything to him?), and he doesn't have any clue what she might want to show him after everything he's said.

it's foolish to think she might know where scott is, that he's here, has been, just chilling out with rosalind, because that's— illogical. scott doesn't (didn't) know rosalind as far as he knows, and though it's not impossible, he can't imagine them being friends, at least not so easily or without very specific circumstances to make it so.

he knows scott isn't here, but for a half of a second, he hopes that maybe he's wrong.

stiles follows, though, because what else is he supposed to do? he follows, and he doesn't want to sit, full of too much pent up something, but he sits anyway. there's exhaustion in his bones, in his everything, and he sinks in a little on himself as he settles at the opposite end of the couch, and listens.

it doesn't surprise him that rosalind knows exactly what it feels like, though a part of him wishes she didn't, because it's an awful feeling. even if scott was just his best friend, it still feels like a part of him has been carved out, and that's... annoying. because scott is probably fine. he's probably back home, away from here, with the rest of the pack, and that's good, right?

stiles holds rosalind's gaze for a moment, recognizing the familiarity in them. he breathes out, wets his lips, breaks the eye-contact as he lifts one hand to absently drag the backs of his bitten fingernails over one temple. ]

... Yeah. [ he has to wonder if scott feels the same way. he vaguely remembers someone saying that a missing pack member kind of feels like a missing limb, but stiles is only human. he doesn't feel things the way scott does, the way malia or liam or derek (wherever he is now) would, if it were them. ] I've known him since we were kids, you know? I go where he goes and vise versa. Even when we were fighting, it's like, I always knew where I could find him, even if we didn't want anything to do with each other.

[ and now he can't, which shouldn't be such a big deal, but it is. the nogitsune is here and allison is here and stiles doesn't really know how to handle any of that on his own, even if he's been dealing with all of it mostly by himself.

he looks up at her again. ] ... I'm sorry. About Robert.

We'll find each other again. We always do.

[Which isn't actually a response to what he said, but of course it isn't. Her hand plays absently over her throat, cool fingers sliding against her skin; she does it in no small part to keep herself from focusing too hard on the man she'd just spoken about.]

. . . keep yourself busy. That's what I advise. Work until you can't think.

[ stiles finds himself... laughing. not abruptly, or loudly, or even terribly joyously; it's more of a huff of breath out through his nose, his mouth a thin line, his smile faint, almost a little grim, and fleeting.

work until you can't think. it's almost funny, how little she really knows about him, the world he comes from, what he's been doing for the past couple years. ever since he dragged scott out into the middle of the woods to look for half of a body. he hasn't stopped working, hasn't really had the chance to stop and breathe since then.

someday, maybe he'll get a break. someday, maybe things will settle down for a while, whether that's here or beacon hills. someday he'll be able to stop and relax and just be, for a while. someday seems so far away.

stiles lets his hand fall from his temple, palm thumping quietly against his thigh before it settles. his knee bounces a little with nervous anxiety about scott, still. it's gonna take him a little while to come to terms with the fact that he has absolutely zero way of getting in contact with his best friend anymore, wherever he may be. ]

Yeah. Yeah, I... [ stiles shrugs a little, seems to resign himself to this solution, because what else is he going to do? he flicks his gaze up, looks at rosalind. his smile looks less grim, though it's still faint. ] So. ... When are you going to, like... Doctor Who it up?

[Just a little coolly:]

I beg your pardon?

[Is she going to whomst. That's the least little thing right now, but it seems a good idea to start to move away from the topic of lost loved ones.]

[ he blinks at her slowly, as if there's no possibility she shouldn't know what doctor who is. as if it's something that's consistent across every universe, in some way, even if he knows that's not realistic at all.

( funny, how much more his perspective of realistic has shifted, even after werewolves and banshees and lizard-men. ) ]

... Doctor Who. The Doctor. The TARDIS? [ he pauses, waves his hands a little, seems to accept that this is a his-universe thing. ] Time and Relative Dimension in Space. This guy — The Doctor — can just... go wherever he wants in time and space.

[ stiles hesitates again, gestures minutely with his hands again, kind of mimes the outside of a small rectangular box. ]

In a... police box.

[She stares at him for another long few seconds. And then, terribly patiently:]

Stiles. Is this a work of fiction?

[ he splays his hands, sits up a little. ]

... Yes. [ squint. ] Kind of?

Stiles.

[Stiles.]

I was born in 1871.

[ literally no hesitation. ]

Time and space. Plus! [ and this is important. notice the dramatic pause. ] I met Wonder Woman. So.

[ obviously your reasoning here is flawed. obviously his argument very clearly makes sense. ]

[STILL HAS NO IDEA WHO THAT IS OR WHY THAT'S RELEVANT.]

You keep saying these names as though I ought to recognize them. Stiles, I barely recognize fiction from my time, never mind yours. Do you really think I spent my teenage years reading fictional books?

[ stiles closes his eyes for a moment. sighs dramatically. rolls his head on his shoulders like this is some huge burden he has to explain. ]

Ugh, you're missing the point. The point [ he holds his hands out, palms facing each other, shakes them a little for emphasis ] is that maybe fictional characters aren't actually... fictional.

[ he flops back against the couch, completely distracted now from his earlier crisis. huh. ]

Where I'm from, Wonder Woman is... she's a superhero, and an Amazonian princess and a badass. But she's— well, she started out as a comic book character, and then that was adapted to film and television. Anyway. Not the point.

The point [ hands, again ] is that... she exists here. For real, in the flesh. Diana Prince. I've met her. In some other universe that's not mine, she's an actual, living, breathing person. The Doctor is an alien that can travel through time and space, so... I mean, who's to say he— or she, maybe, or they couldn't... end up in our... time and space. Or here.

[ he pauses for a moment, seems to consider something, lifts his brows almost as if in challenge as he leans back again, arms crossing over his chest. ]

Maybe you're the Doctor.

[ stiles. scott is missing. ]

[She stares at him for a fair amount of time, just to make sure he understands her viewpoint on this. Then, slowly:]

I'm not an alien, Stiles. I would be very aware if I was, don't you think? I'm not arguing your point about fictional characters, but good god, do you really think I've been lying this entire time?

[ stiles blinks at her, mouth open slightly. he touches the tip of his tongue to a canine, and then closes his mouth, lips turning down thoughtfully. ]

... To be fair, I don't think I've ever asked? [ he puts one of his hands out, as if this will help his clarification. ] If you're an alien. I've never asked if you're an alien so you wouldn't have had the opportunity to lie about being one.

[ here comes his other hand to join the first. ]

Not that I'm asking now or, or calling you a liar, I'm just saying.

[ he has no idea what the fuck he was just saying anymore to. be. honest. ]

[She gives him a little look, choosing not to speak for just a few seconds. Really underscore that point she's making with her silence.]

. . . quite.

[That's the end of that subject, as far as Rosalind and her tone are concerned. With a harsh exhale, she pinches the bridge of her nose. At least this has distracted Stiles from his primary grief, that's something good.]

Any other questions about myself and my past?

Edited 2019-02-08 05:04 (UTC)

[ stiles hesitates for a handful of moments, like he's contemplating arguing his point a little more even though he's kind of... veered off the tracks and lost his actual, original point. he presses his lips together and shakes his head. ]

... No. No, I'm good. [ ... ] Actually. Actually. I was kind of being serious with my original question. Minus all the Doctor Who stuff.

You're going to have to restate it, then.

[Because while she doesn't mind answering him, she still has no idea what Doctor Who-ing it up means.]

[ stiles drops both of his hands and shifts his weight around a little on the couch so he's sitting sideways, but still facing her, one leg drawn up and folded halfway underneath him. he's got one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch. ]

Okay, so. You can... tear holes in the universe. Can you still do that... here? I mean I assume it's not an easy thing because if it was and you could, you'd have done it already, probably, but.

I don't know.

[Ooh, she hates admitting that. Better memorize that sound, because she won't ever say it again.]

Theoretically, yes, of course. It would take an age and a half for me to rebuild the machine, and I don't even know if I'd have the right materials-- but yes, if I were to build it, there's no reason that it oughtn't work.

But. There was no way they could have caught me, either. And yet they did, somehow. And if they could do that, if they had something powerful enough not only to strip me of my powers, but revert me into a human, to force me to stay put . . . they may have something powerful enough to stop me from opening a tear in the world.

It isn't impossible. I've seen that done.

[ there is one thing in particular here that strikes stiles oddly, enough to make him squint a little at rosalind. revert me into a human. that's — a really weird thing coming from someone stiles has assumed, for the entire time that he's known her, is human. which is maybe a little bit naive on his part, considering where he comes from and the people who surround him, but rosalind has never really given any indication that she could be... something else.

stiles folds his lower lip over the edge of his bottom teeth, swipes the underside of his tongue over it, closes his mouth. okay. okay, that's something to unpack... eventually.

right now, though, he's thinking about scott, and the line he had down his throat when he got here. scott's last tattoo had to be burned into his flesh to make it stick, so it's likely that the people here would have had to do the same to mark him as a submissive. but that's not something any regular person unaware of werewolves would know to do. they would have had to subdue him, too, and there are very few things that can knock down a werewolf.

so these people know things. they know things, they have a certain level of power and knowledge that makes stiles feel a little unsettled. they were able to stop and capture rosalind, someone capable of walking across universes, and they brought her here like it was easy. like it was nothing.

stiles touches the side of his thumb to his lower lip while he thinks. after a beat, he looks up, moves his hand slightly just so he isn't muffling himself. ]

... Do you think you're going to try?

[That's the question, isn't it? The same one that Dr. Reid had posed to her months ago.]

. . . I'm not opposed. But if I do, it would have to be very, very carefully. I wouldn't want them to have even a hint of a suspicion as to what I'm building.