this is the life you see

[eyeforaneye]

Who: Sasuke Uchiha eyeforaneye, Jonas Ward coherer, Stiles Stilinski mensrea
When: Feb. 12
Where: Casa de Stiles + Jonas
What: Sasuke visits to receive help with monster transformation symptoms. Things go some varying level of awry.
Warnings: Possible violence, language, and drama.

[ After this conversation and his last sent message, it takes approximately ten more seconds for Sasuke to reach the front door. His watch is tucked safely away within the confines of his cloak, fabric smoothed down before he's reaching out to knock sharply on the door.

All he can hope now is that Jonas was telling the truth and that Stiles won't be the one to answer the door. Not to say he has any real problems with him, but their interactions have proven to be... unpredictable. ]

I'm outside. You can let me in.

Comments

[coherer]

(tsukemono? the pickled items themselves, or the pickling process? jonas can't even be sure he knows how to pronounce that, giving the "japanese" a couple of tries beneath his breath as he leans against their kitchen larder to reply with a flurry of thumbs—incidentally, his instructions to come in without knocking are ignored, startling him into quiet curses.)

Don't knock, I said– (a hushed complaint before he even gets to the front door, jogging away from the sandwich to reach for the handle.) Sasuke, hey. (there's no time spared between seeing him and flashing him a winded little smile, still a bit jittery from his text conversations.)

Find the place okay? You got here fast enough.

[eyeforaneye]

[ He takes in his appearance first, in particular his body language and expression. Potentially troubling. ]

I didn't have any issues. But as for you, am I interrupting anything? You moved quickly and there's tension in your shoulders. [ Which is a totally normal thing to comment on. Just as his impulse to knock had been normal, in spite of what Jonas had told him. It would've felt... intrusive otherwise. ]

[coherer]

(backs away to let him in, eyebrows raising at his ability to suss out his mood. that telling, huh?)

No, you're not. It's just that– well, a girl I know just texted me saying she got attacked by something. Some guy helped her out, but it turns out that he's a vampire? (of all the things he's not allowed to help with, barred from nier's till morning when he can head over and bust her out of there.) I don't know. She insists she's fine, it's just freaking me out a little.

(but,) You're here now, which is the perfect distraction. C'mon in and we'll head to the kitchen.

[eyeforaneye]

Attacked?

I suppose, with the full moon... If she gets back into contact with you and has changed her mind, I'll go along with you. [ Not for her sake. Not to protect her or have her back, as noble as he'd like to think he's becoming. No, for someone else's benefit altogether.

He steps inside when invited in, trailing after him towards the plate of food he's already anticipating. Fuck, he's hungry... ]

Did you or Stiles suffer any side-effects during it?

[coherer]

(wide eyes are convenient windows into how he feels about that, thankful, and relieved.) Seriously? That'd be a great help, yeah– hey, payback for the food, right? (what a reliable guy to have in his corner, still feeling confident about it when they come to stand in the kitchen.

he's been in a pretty decent mood, a few texts withstanding.)

As for side-effects, if feeling completely normal is one then... yes? I'm still lethargic, but I'm almost a whole human again. (which sounds dismissive, and like he hasn't given any thought to it. this is an answer in its own right, considering it's supposed to be impactful, but everything's fine. sasuke's changes are much more considerable and worthy of the attention they're just now paying them.)

Anyway, here's the sandwich. And the pickles if you're interested in checking them out.

[eyeforaneye]

[ His own eyes narrow instinctively when he steps inside, skirting away from any sources of light after the darkness he'd adjusted to outside. He's been too ready to try to excuse the headaches as dehydration or strain for the past few days; now it's an unavoidable reality that this is just one more symptom of his transformation.

An unwelcome one. ]

Good. And Stiles? [ he manages after a moment, swallowing saliva thanks to an already watering mouth. The sandwich is an impressive specimen, that's for sure, and it takes all of his willpower to not immediately take a huge bite. ] Is he alright?

–I can try one of the pickles after; tsukemono is a side dish for me.

[coherer]

(oh, tsukemono.) Hey, whenever. They're more popular as a topping for sandwiches and burgers where I come from, but... on top, on the side? Doesn't matter. (following his gaze to the sandwich, which he gestures to in a silent "go on, dig in."

keeps out of the way with a lean against a tall cabinet, listening to it creak under a shift he makes to cross his arms.)

Stiles is fine, I guess? Day by day I'm realizing I don't actually know much about him. (admitting that's pretty easy, since it's only been a couple of weeks and doesn't change anything. time's just something they all need.) Totally my fault for not asking more, but he's been tired and like, really scattered lately. I didn't want to stress him out or give him another panic attack.

(still feels bad about that one.)

Kinda' worries me, you know? Think it's full moon stuff?

[eyeforaneye]

He's slow to trust. [ After all, even if he's been willing to share information about his world Stiles has gotten noticeably quieter when it's come to his friends and people close to him. Even accidentally uttering one of their names to Sasuke had set him off, and he can't easily forget that he refused to believe Sasuke would help him get home if his powers were returned to him either. Justifiable wariness, perhaps, but still more than he's seen from others here. ]

He brought that with him. It isn't just this place, and if you gave him a– if he was panicked around you, I wouldn't find that surprising.

[ He's delayed as long as he can, taking advantage of the lull in conversation to finally pick up that sandwich. The first bite is immediate and quickly chewed and swallowed, the next following almost right after. Not desperate, but just short of it. ]

[coherer]

Sorry if it's a bit dry, man... I don't have any condiments yet.

(sasuke dives into the sandwich, leaving jonas to wonder about him and stiles. being slow to trust is fine, knowing what it's like to guard certain aspects of life he doesn't want known—evidently not to the same degree his friend is, having to reassure himself that that's what he actually is. stiles feel the same way or he wouldn't stick around, their argument in the street now an insignificant blip on his radar.

it's hypocritical of him to expect either of them to open up when they haven't been given his full run-down, selfish to wait and see how they react to others' histories. time will tell him when to confide, still intent proving his worth first.)

None of it's surprising, no... but I don't want to hear anymore unless it's from him. If that's cool with you. (jesus, jonas is glad sasuke came to grab a bite, because the way he's holding back is obvious.) I would like to hear what happened between you guys, though. You say you don't get along?

[eyeforaneye]

[ "Dry".

Jonas continues to speak and it muffles into something unintelligible by the time it hits his ears. There's no way he can focus on what he says with the bite in his mouth seemingly turning to dust, unpalatable and almost painful to get down with fucking dry it is. It scrapes at the sides of his esophagus when he swallows, lodging itself like a rock in his stomach that nevertheless seems to do nothing to make him feel any fuller.

The sandwich is dropped back down almost immediately, fingers gripping the countertop hard as he takes a long, steadying breath. Why the hell does he feel like this? Like he's cold, like his body is desperate for him to listen to it, like his nerve-endings are raw with the disappointed anger that suddenly burns within him at yet another failure to fix his circumstances. ]

... I didn't hear you.

[coherer]

(his attention's grabbed by a lack of reply.

moreover by sasuke's abandoning of his sandwich, now leaning into his kitchen counters like something's struck him in the chest. jonas, alarmed by the realization that he's liable to be sick in his kitchen, steps away from the larder immediately.) Okay, you're okay. I'm gonna' take this away for a sec– (a lean closer, getting his fingers beneath the plate to set the whole idea in the sink.

if it's not working, they'll try something else.)

How about a drink? Can I get you some water?

[eyeforaneye]

[ His eyes squeeze shut as he tries to get a handle on his temper, the growing hunger pains just adding to his already present frustration. And for this to be happening around Jonas– ]

Yeah, water. [ He forces the words out quickly, putting his hopes on that now instead to try to distract himself. ] Water and something that isn't so dry. I couldn't– I can't eat that.

[ Sasuke takes a step back, forcing space between himself and the remains of that meal as he tries again to cut his focus. ] Maybe a piece of fruit, or one of the pickles. Something like that...

[coherer]

That's okay, seriously. It's not worth eating; let's stick to the basics. (swinging open a cupboard, rifling for a clean glass to fill with tap water he learned to clear their first night alone.

although a hospital might've been the best place for him, this may be the second. sasuke came to him so they could sort this out together. it's helpful information in a way, his inability to choke down a sandwich like that, feeling one step closer to figuring out the root cause. he just wishes it didn't have to be so upsetting for him.)

Pickles might work, so I'll get the jar open. Here, (placing the water down, well within reach on the edge of the counter,) sip this. Slowly, alright?

[eyeforaneye]

[ It's early morning when Sasuke returns reluctantly to the scene of his most recent loss of control, an unpleasant memory he nevertheless tries to sweep aside with repeated internal assertions that it was a one time thing. Something he can fix. Something others have undergone here too, and something that his obsessing over won't reverse.

It doesn't do much good.

His new clothes do, however, free of blood from his late night excursion even if he has yet to part with his cloak. It's drawn tight when he knocks, eyes narrowing at the door as he braces himself. ]

[coherer]

(hand now bandaged neatly with one of the cleaner corners of his bedsheet, jonas cleans. he doesn't know what else to do, unable to change much as he is now, so fussing over the glass and pickles seems to be a better way to spend his night.

when sasuke knocks, he's just finished scrubbing the floor.)

Stiles, he's here! (a call upstairs, before tossing the rag in the sink.

he's patting the knees of his pants off when he answers, looking up from them when he's got the door open wide. seeing sasuke there in a new set of clothes is more a relief than a concern—he doesn't want to ask him where the bloody outfit's gone, nor where the owner of the streak in the the street's been taken—jonas giving him a weary half-smile. he was worried how he'd react to him, not wanting to greet him with disgust or perturbation, but he's sure his expression now is genuine.)

Hey... c'mon in. (stepping aside for him, glancing away.) We can sit in the living room.

[mensrea]

[ Forewarned about their imminent visitor this time, Stiles restlessly paces the length of his bedroom as he waits. Guess he’ll have a chance to apologize in person after all. He shivers. While they returned from their fruitless search to find Sasuke some time ago, he’s yet to shake off the cold that seems to have burned its way into his very bones. The past six hours just feel so surreal – and it isn’t even about Sasuke’s near loss of control. That? That was familiar. That was known. That was par for the course of what Stiles is emotionally prepared to deal with. No, what really sticks with him is everything that came after. He’s projecting, he’s aware of how badly he’s projecting, but…

Jonas’ call reaches him through old, arthritic floorboards. Mentally steeling himself, Stiles rubs sweaty palms down the sides of his pants before opening the door to the hall. The fireplace poker is left where it stands guard by his bedside, hopefully unnecessary. It watches him tentatively go, dull surface somehow warmer than his clammy skin.

Walking downstairs, Stiles manages a brief, uncomfortable nod to Sasuke in greeting as he sidles by. Like a man awaiting his sentence, he wastes no time selecting a seat in the living room. The armchair, despite its age, barely creaks as he sits down heavily; Stiles makes a mental note to weigh himself later. ]

[eyeforaneye]

[ There's no hint of red in cheeks which should be flushed from cold and the sudden shift of temperature when he crosses a warm hearth -- invited in -- but nevertheless his color has improved from the previous night. His eyes linger noticeably on Jonas as he steps inside, just as noticeably quickly dodge the nearby kitchen, then again fail to hide how they then purposefully return. Like he's memorizing the new differences. Burning something seemingly important into his memory, even if only important to himself. ]

Hey. You look terrible. [ Stiles's arrival is heralded by noisy old stairs, and the poor boy is subjected to the same process. ]

... you look worse than he does. I was willing to wait if sleep was needed. It makes sense to want it over with, however. [ He says nothing of his own tiredness, predictably, but the sun certainly isn't getting any lower in the sky as he trails after Stiles and into that living room. He lets the nearest items catch his eye then, plucking at a piece of parchment on a shelf or a faded old book next to it to avoid sitting down.

The silence is nigh palpable. ]

[coherer]

I was going to say "Nice outfit," but now I don't think I will. (said after a heavy sigh through his nose, amused.) None of us were gonna' get any sleep anyway, right?

(his attention is drawn away from sasuke's assessment of him, refusing to mention it to respect both his friend's privacy and his own, to stiles who's dropped into his musty armchair. not a word from him yet, which surely won't last—he hopes, already finding it difficult to walk through the tension filling the room to its sloping ceilings. he has to assume no help will be provided by either party, one already finding himself distractions to pass time.

but allowing them to mingle and get used one another is only one of the few items jonas has on the agenda for this morning, determined to set things straight.) Can I get you guys anything? Uh, I know there are some dietary restrictions in the room now, but the water seemed to go down okay. Just thought I'd check before I– before we start.

...

Stiles? Anything?

[mensrea]

[ The offer for refreshments is met with a gape of betrayal from Stiles, who looks like he wants to either plead that Jonas not leave him with Sasuke or to throttle Jonas for even suggesting it. ]

I’m fine, [ he says, or tries to – his throat chooses that moment to clamp down, hard, on his vocal cords so that the words come out strangled half to death. ] …Never mind. A water, thanks.

[ God, this is going to be more painful than the time his dad tried to give him The Talk. At least then the Sheriff was too distracted by his own embarrassment to notice the way his son’s eyes had glazed over as Stiles decidedly Did Not Listen. Unfortunately, he’s fairly sure both Sasuke and Jonas won’t allow him to mentally check out of this conversation. Time to be an adult. ]

[eyeforaneye]

[ "Before we start".

Somehow the scene is both too informal and too serious, well-accustomed to short briefings before his superiors or relaxed conversations on the road, but there's something tensely lackadaisical about the room right now. Confusing. ]

I can eat the foods I used to eat according to the information available on vampires, in case it becomes relevant later. Still, I'm fine. [ Engaging with Jonas is no real challenge in spite of the guilt weighing heavy on his chest. But with Stiles... well. ]

I'll assume nothing happened when you ventured out last night and that you were both safe.

[coherer]

(gives stiles a desperately pleading look in return while sasuke's plucking at free pieces of parchment, hands pressed together as though in prayer—then turns on a dime when the water order's up and ready to be filled.) It'll definitely become relevant. You still want to try good food, even if ingesting does– uh, whatever it does. Or doesn't do, I guess.

(slipping away into the kitchen to let stiles field the safety question, checking the floor for any spare bits of glass. they need time, that's all; he's slow with the cup he pulls out of the cupboard, actually pressing his forehead to the cool wood to rest a moment.

before long he's back to take his place on the off-red couch, setting two cups down on their low coffee table.) I'm gonna' need a bunch more new clothes, because I'm pretty sure the pickle juice destroyed my socks. Wherever I go, that smell follows. People will start to ask questions. (it's a little white, jokey lie, even though he's ready to follow that up with a real reason.)

... besides, this Ozymandias guy said he's been here for eight months.

[mensrea]

[ Scowling at Jonas’ retreating back – traitor! – Stiles glumly resigns himself to playing cohost for their guest. ]

We were fine, dad, [ he sighs, propping his head up with a hand. ] Looked both ways before crossing the street and everything. You’d have been so proud.

[ The quiet noises coming from the kitchen help to settle his nerves. With the mental reminder that Sasuke isn’t his enemy, he gestures at the couch impatiently. ]

You gonna sit or what, dude?

[ When Jonas returns, Stiles all but lunges for the glass of water, desperate to give his hands something to do. ]

So? I don’t get…what the big dill is. [ Smirking like the cat that got the cream before the smug satisfaction of a bad pun fades. ] He also told me that his first Bond, someone from his world, went back home after their first month. I’ve been asking, but there really doesn’t seem to be an actual pattern to who is sent back and when.

[eyeforaneye]

[ He doesn't feel the same discomfort being left alone with Stiles in particular– no, that ill-at-ease feeling is reserved for being in the house at all. He's prompted to sit, albeit in the wake of some expected – deserved – cattiness and he glances behind himself at his options. Right. Time to take residence at the far end of that couch, leaving Jonas plenty of breathing room. ]

There's a store that sells discount merchandise. Elian's. I can show you where it is another time or give you their information. [ In the case of sock replacement... Should he be buying Jonas new pairs himself? Maybe. But now Stiles is making what he infers from his tone to be a joke, and he stares blankly for a moment or two. Dill. An herb. Are pickles here flavored with dill? ]

... I've been trying to look into that as well, but have hit similar roadblocks. So far I don't know if I should operate on the theory that they're inadvertently causing themselves to be sent back or if it's outside forces.

[coherer]

(jonas, able to breathe, considers discount socks; he's a man with a one-track mind, no deviations from each subject at hand.) That sounds great, actually. The places Marie sent me to were pretty expensive. I'm not made of cunes. (leaning onto the arm of the couch to press the backs of his fingers against his mouth.

it's an odd position, but one necessary to stop himself from snorting. fucking... dill... it's so bad, but as a man who appreciates terrible jokes at inappropriate times, he can't help but smile at it.)

Oh, god. That's so insensitive, man. Some of us are still hurtin' for a gherkin. (raises his injured hand demonstratively high above his head, before smoothly tucking it back to use it as a headrest. yeah, he's perfectly fine if anyone had any existing worries about it.) Stiles' awful sense of humour aside, I didn't mean to present it as information we should concern ourselves with. It just surprised me is all.

We all know time's relative, so I guess it could be running differently back home, but... we may have to stay here that long. Does that bother you guys?

[mensrea]

[ The gherkin pun sadly elicits only a blank, bewildered stare from Stiles, who has never heard the word before. Brown eyes dutifully follow the hand as it is raised and, for a moment, he thinks that Jonas is asking for a high-five or something. Fortunately, said hand lowers before he can decide if he can be bothered to get up and cross the room to deliver – can’t leave a bro hanging, after all. ]

That’s the thing, though. We don’t know time’s relative. Whatever laws of reality are in effect back home don’t necessarily apply here. I mean, what if this stupid world isn’t even round? [ Are we really going there, Stiles. ] For all we know, it could be…infinite. And if it’s infinite, how does that affect things like, like – gravity, or weight, or, yes, relativity.

[ He’s been gesturing wildly during this tangent; some of the water from his glass spills in his lap, which he rubs at in distracted annoyance. The energy of his mini-rant seems to leave him all at once, regardless. ]

I’m not staying. I’ll find a way out for us, or my –

[ Friends will. Except…would they? Never mind the question of relativity. Would Scott attempt to rescue Stiles after what happened? Does Stiles even want him to? Expression twisted in a frown, he falls into a moody silence. ]