useofcuriosity | PSL Box

Entry tags:

psl,
rp

PSL Box

Want to play a PSL or a Prompt? Me too! Lets DO IT. Give a prompt, a word, a picture. Or, start a scene with a fancy au. I'll tag you! It's neat! It's fun! GO JOE.

Examples:

Everyone shift to the left (your character is a werewolf? Now they're a banshee. Or a hunter. Whatever!)
Nogitsune Stuff
Grey's Anatomy Universe
Otherwordly

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Lydia rubs her face in frustration. "I don't want to say you should do another MRI - I know how hard it was for you, but I can't think of anything else. Maybe you should talk to Scott about it? Would he have any ideas?"

"Maybe I could, yeah. It's...not really his specialty, but." What else can he do?

"You're not the type to develop psychosomatic symptoms just because." she insists, starting to pace. It makes her angry that she - they - can't figure this out, and it also makes her scared, which is not a feeling she's accustomed to experiencing, much less on behalf of another person.

"You could try presenting to the other interns? Tell them it's an anonymous patient?"

"Have them run blood tests, things like that. Yeah, I could do that." He snorts, a little to himself. "Maybe I'm cursed."

She immediately snorts. "You think we need to go witch-hunting then? Break out the torches and pitchforks and the dunking chair?"

"Maybe we should bake a strawberry pie." Stiles, your references are dated and bizarre.

She gives him a strange look, because yeah, that one was right over her head.

"We'll figure this out." she promises, though she has no idea how. Stepping forward, she draws him into a hug, her breath against his neck. "Is your shift over? If it is, we can go home."

"It's over, yeah." He hugs her back, "I know we'll figure it out." Well. He believes in her, anyway.

Home, once they get there, is a quiet affair. It's either Stiles cooking or them getting take-out because Lydia only barely cooks, but she fair trades for it by stacking and emptying the dishwasher along with her usual mutterings about needing a maid.

It's not that they're pretending everything's normal, it's just that they both want to avoid talking about the thing hanging over their heads because they need some relief from it. And when they go to bed, Lydia curls up against him, as much for his comfort as her own.

If he falls asleep he might miss it though; sometime in the night, Lydia gets up and leaves the room. She does not return a few minutes later. Or hours later. Nor is she there if he doesn't wake up until the alarm goes off.

It's an awful set of dreams he has. Dreams of weird tree stumps in the middle of the woods. Or the old high school. The middle of the surgical theatre. The sounds of mountain lions, wolves and foxes. The feeling of ice cold water.

It's awful, and eventually he wakes up with a...possibly louder than he'd like start. And disoriented, notices that Lydia isn't in bed with him. "Lydia?" It takes him a moment to be able to speak without hoarseness in his voice, and to get up and make his way out of the bedroom.

She isn't anywhere in the house. She doesn't answer her cell.

She's not at the hospital either.

That's...more than a little panic inducing. He checks at Allison's place. He checks with her mother. He even checks at the old lacrosse fields.

She's not at Allison's house, and when he gets to the lacrosse fields, he doesn't find her either.

But...the high school isn't too far from where the tree line of the forest starts.

The idea of going into the forest? A little daunting, but really when did that ever stop him from doing something amazingly dangerous?

Never. So that's exactly what he does. Heads into the forest, looking for Lydia.

He has to hike a bit. But surprisingly, he'll find himself eventually not too far from where their plane went down. And not too far from that...is an enormous tree strump. Big enough to lay down flat on and not even touch the edges with the tips of one's fingers.

Lydia is curled up on it in a fetal position, leaves in her hair, scrapes on her feet, and naked as the day she was born. She's shivering, and her gaze seems unfocused.

The tree stump, given that he's been dreaming about it gets more than a cursory stare at. But Lydia is foremost in his mind, considering her condition. It's a flaily sort of run that happens towards her, peeling off his jacket and getting it around her. "Lydia. Lydia?"

She makes a soft whimpering sound and stirs at the sound of her voice. For an instant she stares right through him, and then her focus snaps into place. "Stiles?" Her voice is hoarse.

She looks around in befuddlement which naturally evolves into fright. "What happened? Why am I - oh god, I'm naked..."

"Yeah, you are. I don't...know how you got out here. Have you ever had trouble with sleepwalking?"

"A few months ago...something happened." She gets up, tugging his jacket around herself and looking about with hugely dialated eyes. She's in shock, no surprise. "I want to go home."

Home has become Stiles' place, without her realizing it.

He's tempted to take her to the hospital, but he can easily take care of her feet and anything else at home. They can always go back out. "Okay." He'll help her up. "What happened? A few months ago?"

"Home first." she insists, and getting to her feet. She's a bit wobbly, but leaning on Stiles, they can make it back to the jeep.

The time it'll take to get back to it and then home will give her the time to use to prepare for what she's going to tell him.

Once they're home and he's tending to her feet, she starts to speak, expression drawn and voice quiet.

"Do you remember the gala a few months back? It was at that country club not too far from here. Everybody was there." She'd been dating Jackson Whittemore at the time.

He nodded, taking extra care to make this as painless a process for her feet as possible. "I remember." He remembers leaving early, for the most part. Or rather, sneaking out early.

"Jackson disappeared for a bit and I went looking for him. I went outside toward the treeline, calling out for him and then Peter Hale was there." She lets out a sudden shudder, ducking her head. She's been putting off thinking about this for months.

"Peter Hale." He frowns, pretty sure he's going to hate where this is going.

"I saw - I don't know what I saw. I must have been confused, or crazy - he opened his mouth, and his teeth - they were," she starts to cry, but not sob - it's a quiet sort of thing, like doesn't even realize she was doing it, "They were like fangs, and then it all suddenly hurt so bad and I blacked out."

Peter Hale bit her, but her brain just refuses to process it. "I must have been hallucinating. It must have been a trick of the light."

The weird part, of course, is that Lydia Martin is not a werewolf.

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