originallutece | (no subject)

[ stiles tries not to make a big deal of it. when he wakes up in the down, in housing that is only vaguely familiar because of the handful of times he met up with scott, he tries not to freak out. he tries, but he has no memory of coming here, of anything following the night before, and his first thought is that it had to be the nogitsune (it's always the fucking nogitsune). that he's been possessed again, and the gap in his memory is from when his mind was not his own.

when he discovers the mark down his throat, he decides maybe it wasn't the nogitsune (though he doesn't rule it out entirely), but something else. someone else. the room he wakes in is empty, though there's clear evidence of another occupant, but stiles doesn't stay long enough to meet them. he can't. he has to figure something out.

he checks the network first, to see if there are any complaints of switched designations, but it seems to be relatively quiet— until he comes across one post. someone else that's been switched. he scrolls through the visible responses, makes a couple mental notes (coincidences, similarities, etc.), but does not respond, and then...

he goes to see rosalind. because they agreed yesterday to meet today so rosalind could teach him something new. admittedly, rosalind helps keep him a little more at ease, keeps his mind occupied so he doesn't spend too much time thinking, too much time researching. too much time spiraling when he can't find the answers he's looking for when it comes to nearly everything about duplicity.

he can't cancel. not right now.

so he doesn't. he shows up at her door in a hoodie and a thick, navy scarf wound around his neck up to his chin, hands buried in his pockets. thank god it's close to freezing in the up, otherwise he might not be able to get away with the winter wear quite so easily. thank god he bought a scarf back when the temperature first dropped (all while thinking of isaac, the bastard). ]

I ought to have gotten you a coat for Christmas.

[That's the first remark she makes upon seeing him in a hoodie and scarf. It's a little bit sighed out, a resigned but do as you will attached to it. And he's absolutely right: she looks at the scarf and she thinks nothing of it, because frankly it's the only sensible bit of clothing he's donned.

The area of the lab where they typically work is a little cluttered today. Not obnoxiously so, but things left in place from their last lesson. What she has to teach him is new, but it's building off the last lesson-- a complex series, in fact, to help him understand her own Lutece field better.

She's excited by the subject, which means he'll get away with it for a while. But sooner or later she'll notice he still has that scarf on-- and then, nosy thing that she is, she'll stop.]

Why are you still wearing that?

What? What's wrong with this? I'm fine.

[ he arches his brows, twists his mouth a little, seems half amused and mostly unbothered by her commentary on his choice of clothing. it's not a conversation they haven't had before, though that was mostly about his fashion choices and less about the functionality and sensibility. it probably won't be the last conversation they have about his wardrobe either.

stiles is excited by her enthusiasm, and while he's still a little (a lot) anxious about the mark down his throat, he finds, miraculously, that he's able to forget about it for a little while. not enough to unwind his scarf or take off his hoodie, but enough so that when rosalind pauses to address him, he pauses too. his hands still and he lifts his head and he blinks at her, eyes squinting subtly near the corners.

oh. fuck, oh right. there's a significantly long pause in which stiles says nothing, continuing to stare at her as his brain pieces together something to say that doesn't sound incredibly stupid. it's hard work. ]

... Rosalind, it's freezing outside. It's like, 30-something degrees. [ he shrugs casually after a moment, drags down the sleeves of his hoodie, which he'd pulled up to his elbows earlier, and shifts his attention back to his hands, continuing on with this little experiment. ] I'm cold.

[ so much for being "fine". ]

[Her eyes narrow.]

That would have been a decent excuse half an hour ago, Stiles. Less so now.

[One hand darts out, the back of her hand pressing against his cheek. It's warm, as well it should be; the apartment is well heated. Her eyes dart to the scarf, and then back up.]

Tell me now, or tell me later, but either way, you realize I'll get the truth out of you.

[ stiles flinches a little on instinct, but that's not anything terribly unusual. he's a somewhat-flighty, twitchy person by nature, and objects moving at him suddenly and sharply are... not his favorite. fortunately, it's only a minor tensing of his shoulders and a tilts of his head, mouth pinching a little, because he expects rosalind to just yank the scarf off of him, not... touch his cheek.

his eyes shift toward her, but he keeps still until she takes her hand away, at which point he straightens back up, a little wary, hands still poised over his work station, but not touching anything.

she's right, and he knows it. if he doesn't tell her now, she'll only figure it out later (unless he can work out how to switch things back, an option he doesn't have very much confidence in seeing as he has no memory of how or when this switch happened. the only knowlege he has is that it happened between falling asleep last night and waking up this morning.), and if he's honest, this scarf is so uncomfortable. warm, but kind of itchy and restricting.

he sighs, averts his eyes as he reaches up with both hands, and lifts the scarf off from around his neck, loop by loop. he piles it on the station, mindful of everything set up in front of him, and then leans both of his hands against the edge of the table. ]

... I don't know how, or— or when.

[She stares at the mark for a few seconds. And then, quietly:]

I see.

[So people's designations can be changed at a whim. Why? Her eyes flick back up to him, searching his face.]

Can you guess why? Or was it truly at random?

[ he shakes his head a little, though the gesture is subtle, his eyes darting back and forth, tracing the rise of his knuckles as he leans on his hands, still braced against the table's edge. his fingers flex slightly, lifting and then settling. ]

I don't know, I mean. I scrolled through the network to see if anyone else was talking about it, and I only found one other person. [ he straightens up, then, and turns around, leaning his back against the table and lifting his arms to cross them over his chest. after a moment, he uncrosses one of them and rubs one hand over the back of his head, forward over his scalp and then back, fluffing his hair a little. ] I read through what he said, some of the things he said to people who had responded, and the only thing—

[ stiles pauses for a moment, his hand slowing, then lifting away so he can gesture with it. ]

The only thing we have in common is that he didn't have a contract with anyone, either. I don't know when he got here, but.

[ but stiles was at the end of his allotted three months. he doesn't feel like he has to say as much, because rosalind got here at the same time he did, and he knows for a fact that she can do simple math. ]

[That must be it. Of course it is. They were given a deadline and Stiles hadn't followed it, and god knows they have ways to punish those who don't do as they like. With that said: her next decision comes swiftly and easily.]

Then make one with me.

[ stiles, who's been staring down at the rubber toes of his sneakers since he turned around to lean against the table, snaps his head up, brows furrowing sharply. he turns his whole body to look at rosalind, lets his one hand rest lightly against the top of the work station as he rears his head back a little, as if she's just proposed something crazy. ]

What? [ he blinks, then lift his hand off the table to cut it horizontally through the air in the space between them, shaking his head. ] No. No way.

[ there's maybe half a second's pause, his expression softening a little. ]

I mean, no offense. It's not— you. You're... great? You're awesome. Like, really smart and I trust you? [ get rid of that question mark stiles. you trust her, that's not a question. ] And this is sounding like a really bad break-up.

[ stiles exhales, draws his hand up to touch at his chin a little, then let's his fingers drift a little to his throat, like he might be able to feel the mark that's there. ]

... But this isn't what they said would happen if we didn't find someone to enter a contract with. They lied. [ he wets his lips, makes a point to make eye-contact. ] ... And I've been thinking.

[Her fingers drum impatiently, but given he's just suffered through a trauma, she'll bite her tongue for a little longer.]

Go on.

[He's clearly got some sort of idea in mind-- and he's a clever boy. Clever enough that he's worth minding.]

[ stiles drops his hand from his throat, turns his palm up and out, about hip-level. he wets his lips, drags his teeth over the bottom one as he tries to gather his thoughts into something that's concise and straightforward. which is nearly impossible, because this is stiles, but at least he recognizes that he is the way that he is, and who he's talking to. ]

When we first got here, they snapped those bracelets on us before we could leave. You remember? [ stiles sure as shit remembers, because it's how he met rosalind, and it's kind of hard to forget the resulting smothering in an alley. a n y w a y. ] If you filled out that survey truthfully, they came off easy. If you lied, you... paid a fine. [ #fearboner ] If you refused to pay the fine, well.

[ he gestures with his hand, shrugs. he doesn't really need to explain all this, because he's sure she knows. ]

So it seemed like those who lied were being punished, right? But then there was Tumin— Tu...minalia? Whatever. There was that, and I'm not 100% sure on this, but I'm pretty sure anyone who was still wearing their bracelet? They were treated like Gods. They were rewarded for lying, for refusing.

[ stiles pauses for a second, tries to bridge the points he's trying to make. ]

I refused to contract with someone, and I was sent below, demoted. Whatever you want to call it. But they said they would force a contract if we didn't find someone in time, and they didn't. Punishment... but rewarded. Maybe not by their standards, but the last thing I wanted was to be attached to someone. And I'm not.

[ he rubs his fingers against his forehead, squints a little. ]

I just. I don't know. It's called the Lies program. They're looking for the Deceit Gene. It's like they want...

[ he tapers off. ]

I do hear you. And you do have a good point.

[She takes a step forward, not so much to be intimidating but to get closer to him.]

But that being said: are you truly willing to risk yourself on a hint? They've taken away so much from you already. Do you want to see what else they might take away? Stiles, I don't disagree that-- that fighting against them is necessary, but not at your own risk. Not foolishly.

You can always break the contract. But it seems illogical to refuse on a whim when you haven't gotten more evidence yet. So: contract with me, and study more.

[ stiles doesn't back away from her when she steps closer. instead, he looks at her, silently, and for a long time. he thinks about all the risks he's ever taken, in the last two years of his life especially.

he thinks about all of the times he's found himself face to face with the barrel of a gun. all the times he's looked a predator in the eyes. he thinks about how he literally sacrificed his life, once, gave it in place of his father's, knowing there would be risks, both during at after.

this is not a risk, by comparison. in the face of everything else stiles has been through and gone up against, this is easy. this is nothing.

stiles blinks, lowers his gaze for only a moment. he likes rosalind. he really, truly does. he enjoys her company, appreciates her attitude, even if sometimes their stances on certain topics clash. he respects her, but— ]

I can't. [ he looks up, offers her the weakest attempt at a smile, lips closed, mouth tight. ] I'll be fine.

[ he's always fine. his headstone is going to read "i'm fine". ]

At least do me the courtesy of not lying to me, Stiles.

[She won't insist on it. He seems intent on his decision, and she won't argue pointlessly. But she does think this a mistake, and refuses to think otherwise. But she'll be waiting, if and when he changes his mind.]

(no subject)

someday you will tire of me here (also this is backdated ok cool)

will i?? seems fake

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