(open) i paced around for hours on empty, i jumped at the slightest of sounds

[mensrea]

Who: Stiles Stilinski and YOU
When: Night of Aereuer 8 (full moon)
Where: Various spots in Aefenglom
What: Semi-feral Arachne party games on a very special 18th birthday
Warnings: Language, animal death

[ After escaping from Sheva in the Wildes and absconding to Aefenglom, Stiles begins his hunt. Honestly, he’s not quite sure what he’s exactly on the hunt for – only that there’s a voracious hunger rising within him, an appetite that won’t be whetted by just any meal. And so, humming the happy birthday tune to himself loudly and offkey, he prowls from district to district from the city skyline. Those eight spider legs carry him vertically up edifices with no apparent effort, even make impressive leaps across significant distances between buildings. The sense of fear that usually holds Stiles back is gone; uninhibited, he experiments with his superhuman abilities in boyish delight, that joy tempered only by the unkind, savage grin stretching his mouth too wide. ]

It’s my party and I can cry if I want to, [ comes one such inspired ballad, interrupted by his sniggering as he swings upside down from where he’s currently perched. ] Cry if I want to, cry if I want to!

[ That’s if you’re lucky. Sometimes it’s – ]

It’s yo birthday, so I know you wanna ri-i-i-ide out. [ There’s a dog howling somewhere nearby in sympathy. ] Even if we only go to my-y-y-y house.

[ During the night, Stiles will make a nuisance of himself. Expect to find him cavorting through the streets doing eight-legged cartwheels, singing obnoxiously despite the hour, spinning webs in inconvenient locations, dropping by homes to pay friends unexpected house calls, etc. ]

( ooc | Full Moon Shift appearance details, CR & plotting comment, and info & permissions page. Stiles will not be hurting anyone. If threatened with violence, his Arachne instincts will force him to flee the scene. If you want to figure out a specific prompt for your character, hit me up! )

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CLOSED TO SHEVA

[mensrea]

[ TBA ]

CLOSED TO JONAS & SASUKE

[mensrea]

[ Eventually, attempts to enjoy himself stymied by that same hunger, Stiles allows instinct to guide him home. There’s no warning given – no message, no knock, nothing – before he’s waltzing into the cottage like he personally paid for it, abnormally lengthened spider legs squeezed in to avoid knocking knick-knacks off shelves. ]

Hoooooney, [ he calls out in a bright, giddy tone. ] I’m home!

i rued the day and now it is here

[coherer]

–don't know, he just hasn't been answering my texts. And now I'm too freaked out by last month's full moon to leave the cottage, so thanks again for coming over. (fairly obvious, considering their bond shares his tangle of emotions and every one is tinged grey with worry. jonas pokes at his ungainly pile of vegetables in the dining room, normally enthusiastic about sasuke's purchases, but tonight he just can't get in the mood.)

Need another rat, or anything? I'm going to the kitchen.

(making to stand, the yell from stiles startles him into a stagger backwards. he drops right back down again, chair legs sliding a foot back, immediately pitching forward to glance between sasuke and out into the hall through the crown moulded archway. speak of the devil and he shall appear, stiles walking in with gusto. followed by legs, spider legs, held close to his body.)

Stiles? Jesus Christ, dude, you– your– there's–

it's night

[eyeforaneye]

[ The closer and closer Sasuke orbits death, the greater his snobbishness becomes. Perhaps it's that and his overwhelming need to rebel against the most basic social conventions while he still can, or the barriers that their new Bond has broken down for him, that has him actually eating at the table.

His first well-punctured rodent is positioned over his glass, given a final good squeeze and a hard shake as Sasuke listens patiently to Jonas, last droplets of blood eking from a body he doesn't feel like putting his mouth on again. Maybe he does have a few standards. ]

I suppose. I'm feeling– [ Well, Jonas knows, doesn't he? If he didn't know about his hunger – intensified as it is tonight of all nights – then he wouldn't ask. But his unnecessary statement is instantly interrupted by another voice, one that has him dropping that carcass into his glass with an unceremonious "plop". His abrupt stand is much more self-assured, prompted more by the suddenness of the situation than even Stiles's markedly changed appearance. ]

Stiles. [ ... ] Are you alright?

get dunked

[mensrea]

[ Claws gouge into the archway, plaster raining to the floor, as he propels himself into the dining room and onto the table in a cacophony of clattering silverware. The spider limbs have always acted as an extension of his unconscious mind. It’s no different now; they dominate the limited space by curving around both young men, not yet touching but looming like vipers biding time. Stiles meanwhile crouches on the table, making an attempt at eyeing the plated vegetables even as his gaze is drawn again and again to Jonas. ]

Hey, it’s good you’re here, [ he remarks to Sasuke, staring at the Witch. ] Saves me from having to track you down later. Sit down, buddy.

[ The Vampire isn’t given the opportunity to comply before a paw settles on his shoulder, shoving him back down into his chair. It lingers, patting that shoulder gently as if in apology for the rough treatment, and settles there in an implicit warning. Another paw deftly removes Jonas' plate of whole-food dinner, dumping it elsewhere carelessly, so that Stiles can seat himself at that edge of the table, bare feet resting on either side of Jonas’ thighs. Though he’s smiling, warm and fond, there’s an unmistakable edge of danger present in the stillness of the spider limbs. ]

Sorry I went AWOL. [ One again Jonas’ abused chair is scraping across the floor as two paws drag it closer. ] I kinda had a feeling this full moon was going to go off with a bang, you know? Didn’t think I should be around you when it happened.

[ A pause as he turns his head around as if surveying the setting, eyes still locked on Jonas. ]

Whoops!

[scyldig]

[ derek is in kind of a crap mood because he's had a headache all day (and that is the worst how do humans deal with being so fragile he didn't even take any knocks to the head recently?) when he hears stiles down the street. for a brief moment, while the voice comes closer to the cottage, he considers shoving his pillow over his head and ignoring stiles. he's probably fine. it's just the middle of the night on the full moon. nothing to worry about.

... goddammit.

with a huff, derek hauls himself out of bed and opens his window. he leans out, ready to yell at stiles to shut up, but the sight of his arachne form stops derek in his tracks. but only for a moment. ]

Really? It's after midnight.

[mensrea]

[ Thanks to the trichobothria, he’s aware of that window sliding up in its frame before Derek even sticks his pillow-mussed head out. Laughing as if the former werewolf has said something particularly funny, he slingshots himself into the cottage yard with the spider limbs. Before even a few seconds have passed, he’s scaling the side of Derek’s house. ]

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, [ he intones in a singsong voice, stopping when his face is level with Derek’s. ] Hey. How’s it going? You look pretty tired, big guy. Catching enough z’s?

[scyldig]

I would be, if someone didn't decide to drop by out of nowhere.

[ this is a lie. he absolutely wouldn't be sleeping right now. maybe in an hour or so, but not right now. ]

You look like you downed a six pack of Red Bull.

[ it's kind of disconcerting. especially since derek knows that stiles wasn't feeling too great about the whole arachne thing at first. the confidence he's walking around with now has to be due to the moon. it's just... not stiles. ]

[mensrea]

Sorry about that, [ comes the insincere apology. ] I’ve just been in such a great mood tonight, you know? Wanted to share some of that magic with the neighborhood.

[ Derek may want to lean back inside the window, because Stiles is leaning forward regardless of whether he does or not – folding his arms on the bottom of the windowsill and pillowing his head atop them. ]

Guess what? [ Don’t bother guessing. He’s too excited to wait. ] It’s my birthday! Did you get me anything good? It's my eighteenth, so I think that warrants a little something extra.

[plasticasshole]

[Connor hears singing (terrible singing, mind you) as he floats on his back in his pool, and opens his eyes to give the sky an unimpressed look. He's only annoyed for a moment, though. He's soon drawn to sing one of the few songs he knows himself, in a voice that carries unnaturally over to Stiles. He's wet, so the singing acts as a lure... he'll be lucky if he doesn't draw in a few extra people.

If Stiles comes to investigate, he'll find the Merrow in a large pool in the back garden of a cottage. The fence isn't hard to climb over, especially for an Arachne. He does stop singing as soon as he senses someone is near, but it's probably apparent as he fruitlessly scans the area that he's blind above water. He could dive under, but then he can't talk to whoever he was trying to lure in.

Which is anyone, really. He's so damn bored. Having only one Bond instead of three means he still succumbs to the urges to sing or toy with people around the full moons. Playing with the coins at the bottom of the pool can only do so much to entertain him.]

Hello?

(Monster reference!)

[mensrea]

[ Even without the siren’s lure, Stiles would have been intrigued enough to investigate the singing – in part because he’s looking for attention, in part because he recognizes the song. Trespassing without a care, he scales the backyard fence and approaches the pool with ginger wariness. Though Arachnes fear fire, this particular spider remains dubious of any body of water; he very nearly drowned in the last shared dream, never mind his personal experiences back home. ]

“Every whisper of every waking hour,” [ he continues, still offkey. At least he sounds like he’s enjoying himself. ] “I’m choosing my confessions, trying to keep an eye on you.”

[ Sharp brown eyes take note of the unseeing manner in which the Merrow seems to search the area. Having had few encounters with this Monster species, he’s not sure if this is typical for all Merrow. But Stiles has always been science-minded. Seeing the bioluminescent coloring of the man, he presumes that maybe this Merrow is based off a deep-sea creature – which would perhaps impact vision. It’s a theory, if nothing else. ]

Hey, dude. You’re the first mermaid I’ve seen.

[ Wait a second. Mermaid…? No. Could this be…? ]

…Are you Connor?

[ HAS HE FINALLY FOUND CONNOR, THE LEGENDARY ROBOT MERMAID? ]

[plasticasshole]

[He usually can see, but the full moons aren't kind to him. He tracks the voice, at least seeming to be pleased when the song is repeated back to him.]

Yes, I'm Connor.

[He swims to the edge of the pool, seemingly not bothered by the fact that Stiles is trespassing in his backyard. It's not like he's the first, and he won't be the last. He's more curious about how this man knows who he is.]

Who are you? I don't recognise your voice.

[mensrea]

[ Upon receiving confirmation that this is indeed the legendary robot mermaid, Connor, Stiles lets out a loud whoop of triumph. This has been an investigation about two months in the making. Finally, he can rest easy. Connor has been identified. This is better than finding Waldo or Carmen Sandiego. ]

We haven’t met, dude. You can call me Stiles.

[ Sidling to an edge of the pool furthest from Connor in case the Merrow tries to drag him in, he peers in. Then, because he’s in a bratty mood tonight, he strikes the surface with a spider paw to splash water in the other man’s direction. ]

Are you seriously a robot? You totally look human.

[anbu]

[The arachne isn't a subtle presence on the streets of Aefenglom tonight. From the eastern side of the Residential District, Itachi is witness to the construction of an elaborate web, silvery threads stretched and strung across the mouth of a narrow pedestrian street. The full and bloated moon casts enough light to see unaided, better illuminating the Monster's creation in its complexity—as well as its inconvenient blockade.

Out here nearer the Bright Wall, the houses are not as well-maintained nor populated, making the area an ideal location to practice. Itachi kneels on the lip of one such three-storied building, turning his gaze down onto the spider's web. He hears the approaching noise of footsteps and voices. Yet, once they've caught sight of the obstruction, their chatter turns to vocal annoyance as they veer in another direction.

Itachi leans back, weight balanced on his heels as he curls the fingers of one hand into an obscure signal.

The pealing, inharmonic lyrics of an unfamiliar song drift up to him, though Itachi doesn't immediately place an identity, instead focused on materializing the illusion. His magic isn't as strong tonight; he'd known this would happen. It doesn't matter. The reserve is enough, a seemingly bottomless well once he's cracked it open—at once a swarm of black-winged birds appear high in the air and begin to careen down, scattering, picking perches everywhere: on empty windowsills, on balconies, on vents, on gutters. Until the web and its creator are completely surrounded by a noisy murder of crows.

Itachi waits to see what they'll do.]

[mensrea]

[ Once, he described the trichobothria as an instrument to Sasuke – creating sound from sensed vibrations in the air into music that only he can hear. Tonight, with those silky, fine hairs covering his arms from knuckles to biceps, he listens to a silent orchestra detailing to him every movement in an unimpeded half mile radius. It’s obnoxious. Unable to focus, the design of his current web is like something out of those YouTube videos of spiders on crack. Stiles scowls at it, unimpressed with his masterpiece. Just as he’s contemplating tearing it all down to start again, something catches his eye.

He starts violently. The sight of crows, dozens and dozens of them, is so unexpected that he’s baring deadly fangs in warning before his brain manages to catch up. Weird; he should have felt the displaced air from their wings. Now suspicious, Stiles tilts his head to study the birds with perfect lowlight vision. ]

Cute, [ he calls out dryly, scaling the web over to one of the buildings its tethered to. ] If I get imaginary bird shit on me, though, I’m not going to be a happy camper.

[ If the birds don’t move, he’ll pass right through them unconcernedly, zipping up the building in search of the Witch responsible for casting the magic. ]

[anbu]

[The birds do move, life-like, hopping with energetic spontaneity as if to impede the Monster's upward movement, believable in the dimness. As soon as Stiles passes through unconvinced, those illusory bodies vanish in illusory palinopsia, a visual trailing left in their wake.

Itachi doesn't move from his perch on the edge of the building's roof. He's posed statuesque in all black, and without the bright cut of moonlight overhead, he might have been able to blend into shadow unnoticed. That doesn't happen here. More so, if the crows were seen through so quickly, it suggests some higher awareness. Not that he feels any need yet to leave.]

Stiles. [His voice is low, but it carries. He's finally placed that identity. He's seen those spider-limbs before, in that dream, and here they are again, a glory of grotesque physiological change.] What are you doing?

[mensrea]

[ Instead of joining the shinobi on the roof like a normal, self-possessed individual, Stiles opts to stand just beneath Itachi’s perch on the vertical side of the building – forcing the Witch to look down at him. Gravity draws beads of blood from his shoulder wound, the sluggish dripping invisible from this angle but still present as a thick, metallic tang in the breeze. He pays the injury no heed; Itachi is now the center of his attention. ]

What, are you blind? [ comes the gently mocking rejoinder. ] Obviously, I was putting the finishing touches on my magnum opus. Want a closer look?

[ His bare feet are swept off the brick façade as the spider legs push him further out from the building. At a height that would usually have him screaming in unadulterated terror, he hangs horizontally in the air suspended only by those eight limbs. There’s no sense of fear visible on his expression; if anything, Stiles looks condescending, one human ankle propped up across the other knee like he were calmly enjoying tea at an ordinary altitude and position. ]

I think the better question is, what are you doing, little Witch? Didn’t your brother warn you about the full moon?

[bolstafir]

[Sometimes you're just walking down the street minding your own business, sipping on a blood-laced cocktail, trying to get inside your house before the full moon effects start hitting you real hard when suddenly a spider guy drops down into your way while obnoxiously singing. At least it's not a scorpion guy. He's had enough of those for a lifetime.]

If you want to, huh.

[Faintly teasing. There is a bigass sword on his back, but it's clear he's not going for it in any way. Far as he can tell it's just a bored kid.]

Well, don't stop on my account.

[mensrea]

Oh, I won’t, [ comes the enigmatic response, though Stiles is quick to forget what he was doing when he spots the cocktail. ] Whoa, hey! Is that booze?

[ From his vantage point leveraged in the air by the spider limbs, he peers down curiously at the drink. ]

…I can’t tell. It smells like – [ An odd look passes over his face as Stiles recognizes exactly what the smell reminds him of. ] Blood? Oooooh, you a Vamp?

[ While one spider limb goes to tug distractingly on Qrow’s sleeve, another zips out in an attempt to grab the drink. ]

[bolstafir]

[A smooth movement sidesteps the second limb; Qrow's been fighting Grimm with various kinds of appendages too long to be distracted by such an obvious feint. That's the easy part; he spends half a moment of inner debate whether or not to answer the kid's questions honestly or lie, and settles on half and half.]

I am. But this is just regular booze, kid.

[It is not. But drinking blood is still a matter of deep shame and guilt for Qrow, to the point where he pretty much has stuck to buying animal blood from the vampire bar, mixed into drinks where he can almost pretend it's a part of his usual vice, rather than something he now needs to live. That's not something he's really ready to share with anyone, let alone someone he's just met. But Qrow is a spy; he's had many years to master his pokerface, and the bluff he plays now is a shit-eating grin, drawing on years of teasing teenage nieces.]

Tell you what. Since it's your birthday, I'll buy you a smoothie.

[mensrea]

[ As convincing as the front may be, Stiles would know the metallic tang of blood in the air even if he wasn’t currently tapped into his more bestial instincts. ]

If you’re going to lie, I will too. [ The eighteen-year-old boy makes grabby hands at the cocktail (with ten limbs). ] Toooootally just turned twenty-one. I’d show you my ID, but I left it in my shirt pocket.

[ And he is currently sans shirt. Alas!

Fortunately, Stiles isn’t actually that interested in the drink – alcohol lost its appeal after watching too many adults cling to it as a coping mechanism. ]

Do you think there are any smoothie places still open?

[mensrea]

[ Singing softly under his breath, he locks the front door of the cottage behind them. There’s a moment as he fights the instinctive desire to reinforce security by webbing the door as well. Only once his brain starts tunneling down “what if” scenarios – like, what if the cottage caught on fire and Jonas couldn’t escape because the front door was webbed (never mind the fact that the Witch is currently webbed himself) – does Stiles dismiss the idea. Sasuke requires more immediate attention, anyway. Speaking of the devil… ]

How’re you holding up, buddy?

[ Stiles turns to where he’d propped the Vampire against the brick façade of the cottage, ducking down to peer up at his friend’s face. ]

This will go a lot faster if you let me give you a piggyback ride. [ A pause while he debates whether or not to do so, forcefully. ] On a scale of one to ten, with one being the worst and ten being the best, how’s your self-control right now?

[ Because he knows what it feels like to have fangs sink into his shoulder – friend or not, he won’t experience that again. Now it’s just a matter of deciding if he should seal Sasuke’s mouth shut with some good old Arachne Glue. ]

[eyeforaneye]

[ Eating what meager portions he had inside the cottage ended up being a mistake. Certainly the Bond had helped, stopped him from being elevated to the level at which Stiles is currently operating, but an unsatisfying meal had only roused his overwhelming mix of blood- and magic-lust to a new height. Would he have been able to retain control if he hadn't smelled Stiles's blood? That's a question he doesn't want to answer, because it might imply that he'd failed to take appropriate precautions again.

He lifts his hand to his face, fingers pressing beneath tired eyes and sense of smell effectively dampened as he fixes Stiles with a look he certainly doesn't deserve. He's frustrated, hungry, and now battling with Jonas's worry that he can feel through the Bond. ]

Four, [ he grits out finally, as truthful an answer as he can give. ] If you think I'll attack you that easily then you don't know me well still. Where are you planning to take me?

[mensrea]

[ That unkind look is met with one far more cruel in its cool, detached glee and amusement. ]

That’s right, [ comes the patronizing croon. ] Of course you wouldn’t attack me so easily! How stupid of me to be cautious.

[ As he speaks, Stiles makes a show of stretching his human arms so that the twin pair of scars there catch the moonlight. His smirk is like a razor blade, as sharp as the shuriken that impaled him. ]

It’s not like there are extenuating circumstances affecting you now, unlike last time. Silly me.

[ Once Stiles feels that he’s made his point, he spins on the ball of a foot and crouches to present Sasuke with his naked back. It's a sign of uncompromising trust that his Arachne instincts shouldn't allow. Yet here he is. ]

We’re gonna find you something decent to eat. I’ve done some research since we last talked about your new diet. There’s a pet store in the Shopping District that’ll have what you need. [ Glancing over a shoulder, he beckons impatiently. ] C’mon, hop on.

[eyeforaneye]

[ Whatever inhuman, overpoweringly painful hunger there is twisting his gut into knots is still nothing in the face of the shame that suddenly burns through him. It's red hot and agonizing, visibly flinching from the scar with which he's presented when he has so little energy available to combat his own displays of emotion. All that willpower is instead directed towards not widening the wound on his shoulder with scraping teeth and a deep plunge of fangs. ]

Fuck– [ –you, he might add, but that's assuming he has the right to say it. Who's at fault here? Himself. Some moon-crazed version of his friend isn't deserving of his wrath, he is. He swallows the saliva that's gathered under his tongue, glancing sidelong at the front door. ]

... I'm staying with Jonas. You promised you'd do the same, didn't you? I can handle this if I'm given a chance to. [ Without a feast beneath his very nose. ]

You need to trust me.