milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Grace is pissed.

For the moment she's hiding it well beneath her casual disregard for anything around her other than the Budweiser in her hand, but her friends would notice something simmering under the disinterest.

Good thing they aren't here.

She'd left the bar and the surprise family cabal only to find Earl sitting at her counter with the freaking brochures she'd just thrown away. Belching, she deleted her sister's messages and ignored Earl's latest attempts to impress upon her the importance of family values. It was a relief when he flashed the wings and disappeared to Vegas or the Titanic or wherever the hell he said he was going. She doesn't care. She never cares.

But she doesn't feel like being alone. These days, that means finding Mike and making some trouble, so here she is, lurking around the main bar with a beer and a somewhat vacant expression, waiting for trouble. Yee-haw.

[OOC: Also for car keys, all are welcome, slowtime likely, etc.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yes, it absolutely does get crazier.

"Derek's a werewolf."

And so is Scott.

"You see why the animal attack thing doesn't really clear him? He's got claws and fangs, he just doesn't show them to the Sheriff."

"A werewolf."

Believe it or not, Grace finds that less insane than the freaking angel with a penchant for tacos who hangs out on her couch.

"Cool." She grins. "Yeah, I guess that's a hard one to prove without risking your neck. So is he like... American Werewolf in London or whatever the heck the special effects department did with Remus Lupin?"

Priorities.

Cool? What kind of stuff is going on in Oklahoma City?!

"He's more... Buffy the Vampire Slayer style, if I had to pick. Lots of hair... but no eyebrows. It's disturbing."

Where do they go?!?!?!

"Only Oz was one of the good guys. Like Scott! Who Derek is trying to draw into his murder world."

And Scott persists in going against Stiles good advice and continuing to talk to the dude. Bad. Plan.

Wow.

Stiles's life got interesting.

"No eyebrows? On a werewolf? That's some shitty costume design, kid." She flashes a grin, showing lots of teeth. It vanishes just as quickly. "Seriously, though. What else you got to tie him to the deaths?"

"Trust me, the look is totally not living up to the promise of classic cinema."

The fangs and claws aren't bad though.

"Well the bus driver? First Scott thought he might've done it, but it was definitely another werewolf, and Derek is the only other werewolf in Beacon Hills, now that he killed his sister. And the bus driver wasn't dead when they found him. He died just after Derek visited his hospital room."

"How come you know there's not another werewolf?"

Beat.

"Werewolf."

Grace sputters out a laugh, slapping the nearest piece of furniture in her amusement.

"There wolf. There castle."

Yeah, he's lost her to laughter for a minute.

"Dude, that was not that funny."

She's still laughing. Why is she still laughing?

"How many of those have you had?" Stiles asks, pointing to Grace's beer. "And why aren't you sharing?"

Scott's busy on a date with Allison, why shouldn't Stiles get to have some fun too?

Because it's hilarious.

"Dude," she fires back, "did you see Gene Wilder's face? C'mon."

In an exaggerated motion she lifts her beer bottle and examines it, weaving closer and away, lips twitching.

"This?"

She straightens, eyes suddenly sharp, and hands him the rest of the beer. Grace has a lot of practice maintaining.

"Here."

Beat.

"You didn't answer my question."

Stiles rolls his eyes at her, but smiles.

"Thanks," he says, raising the bottle to his lips. He's had beer before, at parties, but he still thinks it's, well... gross. Is it an acquired taste, or is everybody else just pretending it tastes good? Jury's still out.

"We know there was another werewolf—Derek's sister—but he killed her. I don't know if the rest of his family were werewolves too, but they all died years ago."

Derek still seems pretty pissed about that.

"If there is another one, I've got no freaking clue who it is."

And that's not a pleasant reality at all.

"Okay. But it's possible."

Forgive her skepticism, but Grace can't imagine Stiles has his finger on every pulse in Beacon Hills.

"Your friend Scott try to talk to him?"

Werewolf to werewolf. Probably wouldn't be safe for a Stiles to werewolf chat, huh?

"What's your dad say?"

"Sure he did." Although Derek seemed to prefer glaring to talking. "Derek just told him some creepy shit about how the bite is a gift and the two of them are brothers now."

Derek can't be Scott's brother. That's Stiles's job!

"Dad doesn't say anything. He doesn't know anything about the whole werewolf... thing."

And he's not going to.

Glaring can be a very effective communication tactic, Grace would say, but she also knows it's better for concealment. Deflection. Protection.

None of this is stacking up in Derek's favor, in any case.

She lets out a derisive snort. "He tryin' to start some kind of werewolf cult?"

Seriously, what the hell sort of werewolf tells someone the bite is a 'gift'? Is he going door to door selling lycanthropy like freaking Mary Kay?

"Okay."

Beat.

"So you give your dad a reason to suspect Derek that has nothing to do with sharp teeth, claws or fur. Can you place him near the
crime scene?"

Wouldn't it be more like going to door handing out copies of The Watchtower?

Either way, Scott and Stiles are totally not buying what Derek's selling.

"Sure. The hospital's got security cameras, that'll show Derek was there."

That part's easy enough.

"We can't prove he was on the bus when the driver was attacked though. I mean, Scott remembers it, but I'd rather not get into why Scott was there."

Grace snorts.

"Listen, kid."

Looks like he's destined to always be a kid to Grace. Good thing she likes kids.

"I get why your buddy Scott's involved." She mimes a toothy wolf snarl. "And I get that you're concerned. But."

Beat.

"You been formally deputized by the Beacon Hills P.D.?"

Meaningful eyebrow.

"I don't know if it was formal per se, but Tara did give me a deputy badge one time."

This is true. The badge is made of plastic.

"And I've spent more time at the station than some of the actual deputies."

Babysitters didn't really like Stiles so much, so he spent much of his tween years ~~annoying~~ hanging out with Tara and the other deputies.

He does note the eyebrow though.

"But, uh, technically? No."

He covers with another swig of beer.

"Huh," says a gruff voice just to Stiles' left. "You sure you're tall enough to be ridin' that particular ride, there kid?"

Oh look!
It's Raph!
And he's got his Security Badge hanging around his neck.

HAI RAPH!

Stiles turns. There's an unfamiliar bald guy with a badge. Well that's... awesome.

"I'm almost as tall as you, dude."

Which is perhaps not the actual point there.

"And Grace and I are friends," he adds, arm flying back and forth quickly between himself and Grace. "I've known her since I was kid—I was so much shorter then, you don't even know. Absolutely nobody riding anyone or anything."

THERE IS NO FUNNY BUSINESS HERE.

Edited 2014-09-17 00:22 (UTC)

Oh, there's plenty of funny business here.

"Speak for yourself, kid."

Grace lets out a husky chuckle, cutting her eyes at Raph in a way that could be construed as suggestive if it weren't so amused.

"Hey, Raph. Nice bling."

Raph is rolling his eyes even as he's nodding a greeting in Grace's direction.
There are too many snarky Graces in his life for his liking.

"I meant the drink, you knob."

Some people just don't appreciate their blessings from above.

"Just to clarify, who's the knob? Him or me?"

"Not me!" says Stiles, affronted by the suggestion.

He also grabs his wallet from his back pocket. He carefully slides out the ID that puts him just over 21, rather than his true age of 16.

"Tall enough for ya?"

(There's no way security at a Bar frequented by patrons from all of time and space could be an expert on counterfeit California IDs, right?)

"Jury's still out," he grumbles in Grace's direction as he swipes the ID from Stiles.

"Whoever made this did some nice work, kid."

It's a bluff, but...well, let's just see if the kid backpedals or dances.

"You mean the Department of Motor Vehicles?" Stiles asks.

Stubbornly feigning innocence is always Plans A through at least C.

"They got a brand new laminating machine this year!"

Is that taking it too far?

Is there such thing as too far?

"Jury's rigged."

Grace moves beside and slightly behind Raph, pretending to examine the I.D. along with him; hey, she's the real cop here. In reality, she makes a quick series of ridiculous faces at Stiles and opens her mouth wide in a silent guffaw.

Then, "Shit, man. The DMV's famous for their artistry."

Beat.

"But what the hell's your hair doing in this shot, kid? And who told you to smile?"

Stiles struggles not to laugh, he really does, but it's hard to keep a straight face with Grace being such a buffoon. It seems like security dude knows her, so he must be used to her quirks. Right?

"What the hell is... I'll have you know I like my hair like that!"

Stiles rubs a hand over his buzzed hair self-consciously. He cut it off for lacrosse season. It gets kinda sweaty and gross.

"And I don't know about Oklahoma, but California hasn't outlawed smiling."

Land of the free. Or whatever.