(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! )

Comments

[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?

[bolstafir]

[Here's another adult for that pile, honestly. Not that it's obvious upon a first meeting.

He doesn't react to that callout of his lie in either direction, no defensive insistence nor admittance to being caught. He just keeps the amused smirk in place, one eyebrow raised at the mention of the ID.

But then Stiles takes him up on the offer, or at least entertains it in the hypothetical, and the expression drops for a moment, traded for something uncertain. There's always risk management, when it comes to his presence. Before Aefenglom, it was his Semblance; how much could he afford the bad luck he brings? Here, it's the bloodlust. Even now, there's a dull ache in his stomach from Stiles' heartbeat so close, especially on the full moon, but the blood he's already consumed makes it bearable. It couldn't take more than twenty minutes to find some kind of smoothie place, right? He took precautions this time; he can manage himself that long.]

Hm, probably. Nocturnal Monsters have a sweet tooth too, right?

[mensrea]

Then who am I to turn down such a generous offer?

[ Stiles may not have much of a sweet tooth, but he isn’t about to pass up the chance to be the center of attention in his current state. Grinning, he holds out a spider limb to the stranger, claws carefully raised away from the tarsus. ]

You can call me Stiles.

[ Now humor him and shake the spider paw. ]

[bolstafir]

Qrow.

[He gives that spider paw a glance. Raises an eyebrow, and then chooses to go ahead and humor him. It's a little easier than gripping too close to the thrumming veins at his human wrist, anyway.]

Well, after you.

[Since his way forward here is kind of blocked.]

[mensrea]

[ Well, well, well! Grin twisting into a sharper, approving smirk, Stile shakes the man’s hand with exaggerated gentleness. Qrow has officially won brownie points for being confident enough – or maybe being stupid enough – to shake an Arachne’s tarsus on a full moon. Given that Stiles doesn’t sense any magic from the man, Qrow must surely be a Monster. And most likely a recent Mirrorbound instead of a local, judging by the lack of noticeable Monster traits. Interesting.

Humming, Stiles turns around to peer down the street. His shoulder wound has stopped bleeding for now, though every excessive movement of that top right spider limb aggravates the injury further. ]

Dude, I don’t know where I’m going.

[ Like a collapsed umbrella, the extra limbs fold in around his body – affording Qrow space to walk abreast with Stiles. ]

C’mon, old man. Lead the way to the promised smoothie land.

[bolstafir]

Hey, some circles would call me vintage, you know.

[Is he actually vain about his age or is he just messing around? The world may never know.

Stiles folds up his spider appendages, which makes the wound on his shoulder visible enough to notice, and Qrow pauses before continuing on ahead.]

Soooo. On a scale from "immediately" to "didn't even hear you", how fast are you going to ignore me if I point out that cut on your shoulder's asking for an infection if you don't cover it up?

[mensrea]

Sorry, the number you’re trying to reach is not available, [ is the glib response, his expression amused. ] Please don’t try again.

[ That taken care of, Stiles moves the conversation along to topics he’ll actually discuss. ]

So, “Crow.” Is that your real name, or you just trying to seem cool?

[ Totally unaware of how it’s spelled. ]

[bolstafir]

[Yeah, that sounds about right. Qrow lets it go for the moment, though he'll probably bring it back up later, maybe before they part ways. Digging his heels in would be pointless with a kid he doesn't even know. When he was Stiles' age, he was suspicious of unexpected concern from adults too. Even Ozpin he'd needed some time to warm up to.]

That is actually my real name. Caw caw.

[He had issues with this, growing up, but he's leaned into the motif over the years. Being given the power to turn into a literal crow didn't hurt. The spelling, he'll address that another time. But he definitely did that to be edgy.]

[mensrea]

Hmm.

[ Stiles peers suspiciously at the Vampire, trying to discern if he’s being told the truth. ]

Well, there is a deer man here named Louis.

[ A spider limb darts out with impressive speed to hook around a magitech street lamp, yanking Stiles over to spin around it with childlike enthusiasm. ]

Maybe you two can swap “bizarre names” stories.

[bolstafir]

[Qrow just raises an eyebrow. Deer people are not, in fact, out of the realm of possibility in Remnant, considering there are Faunus with features of most animals. Hell, one of his nieces' teammates is a catgirl.]

What would you call him, Deerek? [He snorts.] It's not that weird.

[That would probably be like. A speciesist microaggression, where he's from, honestly. Life is weird when you're from a high fantasy planet.]

[mensrea]

Derek is a wolf name, [ comes the haughty response, as if Qrow is a fool for suggesting otherwise. ] Louis is definitely weird. He should have some kind of creative fantasy name, like Cenarius or Legolas or Fir…Fir…

[ Stiles pauses, squinting at nothing in particular. ]

…Firenezzy, whatever that centaur’s name was in The Philosopher’s Stone. [ Then, muttering to himself: ] I should text Jonas, see if he can remember.

[bolstafir]

Soooo a deer needs a "fantasy" name, but a wolf doesn't, huh.

[Lightly sarcastic, one hand on his hip as the eyebrow remains raised.]

What "should" a human be called, then?

[Also, what the heck's a centaur? He'll get back to that.]

[mensrea]

Werewolf, actually. Only sometimes a wolf. The rest of the time – big, surly troglodyte.

[ All this walking is really cramping his Arachne style. He begins to spin silk, weaving minimal-design webbing between each street lamp. ]

Oh, “What’s in a name!” [ he proclaims loudly, earning them a nasty look from an elderly Naga on her way home from a late-night shift. ] “That which we call a rose! By any other name! Would smell…as sweet…!”

[ He's absolutely butchering the delivery of the line with the unnecessary pauses. ]

[bolstafir]

Werewolf? You mean, like the kind around here?

[If this kid is familiar with the varieties of monsters around here, then it's a good idea to keep him in mind to contact for information in the future.

Qrow currently lacks a bat form, so he is tragically earthbound as Stiles hops about from lamp to lamp. He snorts at the dramatic proclamation that follows.]

Is that from a movie or something?

[Alas, there is no William Shakespeare on Remnant, despite all the characters being themed to some extent after literary characters and fairy tales.]

[mensrea]

Man, you are so lucky if you’ve never heard of William Shakespeare.

[ The current web now includes a distinct frowny face with a mustache. ]

I hated those classes. Thank god for SparkNotes. [ Okay, how about in a language that your new, non-Shakespeare-familiar friend will understand, Stiles? ] He’s some dead poet that every kid has to study in school. Totally not worth getting into.

[ Not unlike – ]

Now, werewolves. [ Darting over to Qrow, Stiles hands him a thread of non-sticky silk and then returns to his masterpiece. ] They’re kinda like Turnskins here, yeah.

[bolstafir]

Ohhh, one of those.

[Boring school shit, he remembers those days well. Fondly, even, despite his general distaste for the actual schoolwork parts. Stiles hands him a thread of silk and he blinks, but doesn't drop it. Apparently he's just part of web art now.]

SparkNotes, though, huh. Sounds useful. For me, SparkNotes was Taiyang Xiao-Long. [And Summer, really. Probably moreso. But it's harder for him to talk about her.] When he wasn't being a dick about it, anyway.

[Telling him to "apply himself" and "pay attention", the nerve, god.]

Are you familiar with any of the other Monster types too, or just that one?

[mensrea]

[ The most beautiful web art, Qrow. You’re going to be a star. But keep moving, because Stiles wants that damn smoothie. If you accidentally clothesline a few people along the way? Sacrifices must be made. Onward! ]

Others too, [ he replies, losing interest in spinning silk abruptly. ] Some personally, some just through my world’s mythology. Pucas are the only one I’m unfamiliar with.

[ There’s a moment of frustration where Stiles seems to break through the moon-high he’s experiencing; he wants to ask about Taiyang Xiao-Long, but the name is already slipping through his fingers without his notebook to jot it down on. The thought passes before he can act on it. ]

Why’re you asking? If you have questions, you’d be better off asking a Mirrorbound Monster about them. Unlessssss, [ drawing out that sibilant, he spins around to face Qrow, walking backwards ahead of him, ] you want to know about Arachne. In which case, tada! Pretty sure I’m the only one. How’s that for special snowflake syndrome?

[bolstafir]

[He lets out a low whistle.]

Well damn. The mirrors aren't a big fan of spiders, I guess.

[He wonders if Stiles considers that a stroke of fortune or misfortune. Shaking his head, he slips the silk around his wrist instead so it frees up his hand.]

Don't have any specific questions, though. [Not at the moment, anyway, off the top of his head.] I haven't met anyone who had equivalents of Aefenglom's Monsters back home, yet, is all.

[In other words, the spy in him flagged your perspective as Interesting and Potentially Useful in detangling the mystery of how they came to be here. Of course, that part of him is also aware information doesn't tend to come for free. He adds, smoothly:]

The Shades outside the Wall remind me of the monsters in my own world. So I was curious about your perspective.

[mensrea]

Huh.

[ As he considers this – there aren’t really Shade-equivalent creatures in his own world, at least not anything that wouldn’t be better suited in a different category – he trips over a gap in the cobblestone road and tumbles backwards head over heels. The Arachne limbs respond much quicker than his human body, catching Stiles before he manages to crash to the ground. In an attempt to make it look like it was all on purpose, he goes boneless and allows the limbs to continue walking him…while he remains supine, hands folded over his stomach in a bizarre resemblance to a body in a casket. ]

We don’t have anything like that, [ he continues, staring up at the sky. ] You got an infection back home? What creates those monsters in your world?

[bolstafir]

[A curious thing happens as Stiles trips over the gap in the road; Qrow lunges forward, trying to catch the teen before he falls, but the Arachne limbs respond faster than he does, leaving his own hand outstretched in midair, just shy of Stiles' wrist before the kid goes boneless. And though it wasn't quick enough to outstrip the Monster reflexes, it's still too fast. People don't just react that quickly to someone tripping in the street....unless they've been doing it a long, long time. Unless it's a longterm, instinctual paranoia.

There's no real way to play that off, so he just doesn't, shoving his hands in his pockets instead, and he continues the conversation like nothing happened.]

It's not an infection. The Grimm are drawn to negative emotions. Fear, anger, hatred...all the ugly things that lurk inside your head, and they'll destroy anything and everything indiscriminately, just like the Shades. As for what made them....well, originally, it was the God of Darkness, if you believe the stories.

[And since then...Salem. Outside of Remnant, keeping that a secret doesn't really matter anymore, but it's force of habit. Always better to keep some cards close to your chest, if you can.]

[mensrea]

[ Alas, the abnormality of Qrow’s reaction is largely lost on Stiles. Having spent the last two years surrounded by supernaturally fast beings, he doesn’t think too hard about how or why his current companion might have responded so quickly. He still assumes that the other man must be a Vampire and therefore a Monster; with that in mind, he dismisses the unnatural speed as a tradeoff from the transformation.

Details about Remnant definitely intrigue him, however. Sitting up – and it’s a bizarre sight, this half-naked teenager seated cross-legged in the air with one spider limb tucked under him while the rest ferry him along the road – he considers Qrow thoughtfully. ]

So, do you?

[ The idea of creatures like Shades that are drawn to negative emotions… He questions the survivability of anyone in such a world, given how predominant negative emotions tend to be in people. ]

Believe in the stories, I mean.

[bolstafir]

[Silver linings to vampire transformation, clearly. Keeping your baggage hidden for another day.]

Yeah, I do.

[Mostly because he believes in the person who told them to him, more than anything in the world.]

It's said he was the younger of two brother gods who created Remnant in the first place. The elder brother was the God of Light, who focused on creations of life. As the story goes, humans were the result of their feud--capable of creation and destruction both, and given the gift of choice between the two, and the knowledge to understand their choices.

[How much of it is true and how much is embellishment is irrelevant to Qrow, in the end. The Grimm were real, and the four "gifts" to humanity--Creation, Destruction, Knowledge, and Choice--existed as the Relics, too, and it's been his job to keep Salem from getting her hands on them for nearly half his life now. Not that he discloses as much just yet.]

[mensrea]

[ Two brother gods. The elder, the God of Light. The younger, the God of Darkness. Funny, how it so often seems to work out that way in mythology and legend. Almost cliché, really. Stiles idly muses on characters in pop culture who fit the same equation. Was Hades a younger brother in Hercules? It’s been so long since he’s seen the movie; he can’t remember. ]

How do the Grimm fit in?

[ The bright lights of a still-open business up ahead catch his eye. Twisting around, Stiles peers curiously at what appears to be a juice store. ]

Hey! Time to pay up, old man! [ The limbs drop Stiles back on the ground. ] But don’t quit with the storytelling. We can order and chitchat. Got it?

[bolstafir]

[He puts on his shit-eatingest grin before saluting with two fingers.]

Yes, sir.

[Leading the way into the shop, he pulls out a ratty wallet, digging past a whole bunch of strange, plastic-looking money to find some cunes instead as they stand in line. He really ought to get a new wallet for Aefenglom, honestly....and maybe better employment than "whatever odd jobs he can find". If only working with the Wilders was something you could get paid for, alas.]

They were part of the feud, too. The last big escalation before they created humans as a truce, actually. See, the God of Darkness hated his older brother's creations, and kept trying to destroy them, with fire, drought, famine....but life was too resilient. So, the creatures of Grimm. Beings of pure destruction and chaos, without a soul.