bakerstreet | it's raining, it's pouring

it's raining, it's pouring

caught in the rain

It started out quietly, and then, quite suddenly, you're caught in a storm. Time to find cover. Nothing much to do but to wait it out.

Scenarios listed below for those who want 'em.

i WHERE:
001 PLAYGROUND - Well, you can try to hide under the slide or maybe in the jungle gym... at least you're some place fun?
002 PARK - Always happens, caught outside trying to take advantage of the weather... and it ends up pulling a fast one on you.
003 STORE FRONT - Better hope they have an awning you can take advantage of
004 THE BEACH - Not exactly the best place to be during a rainstorm, however it is possible to get caught in a sudden storm
005 WILD CARD - Anyway you want it

ii HOW:
001 TREE - Not the best cover, but it'll have to do, stay close to the roots and you won't get too wet.
002 UMBRELLA - Most conventional... Kinda boring. But it works.
003 NEWSPAPER - Not permanent, but it'll have to do. Good luck
004 BAG - Well... y'gotta do what you gotta do.
005 NONE - You know what. You're a rebel. You don't need cover. Screw convention
006 WILD CARD - that's the way you need it

iii WHY:
001 REJECTED - Welp. Rejection sucks. And no one will see you crying in the rain.
002 WAITING - For the bus? For someone else? For some revelation? What are you waiting for.
003 MELANCHOLY - Sometimes the best place to feel a bit down is out in the rain.
004 HAPPINESS - Is everything going your way? Are you singing a refrain while walking down the lane? Just singin. Singin' in the rain.
005 ANGER - WELL YOU KNOW WHAT. SCREW YOU TOO RAIN.
006 WILD CARD - Anyway you want it.

>> POST with your character
>> TAG others, use RNG if you need to, or just make up your own scenario if you want!
>> HAVE FUN.

(from here.)

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[The sad remains of what once was her regal home is always the first place Dara thinks to go when she needs to get her head on straight again. When things get too overwhelming; when she needs to reach out to her lost family for the guidance she wishes they could offer her, this is where she goes. It's quiet and it's secluded. No one ever bothers her when she's here.

In the wake of the nogitsune, Allison's death and Kate's return, Dara needs her family — her real pack — now more than ever, but when she stares up at the burned out shell of a house that embodies everything sacred and important and Hale, she can't feel them there, anymore.

No one's heard from Dara for days. She does this sometimes when things get too hard. Laura did, too. Dara runs away. She never gets very far, these days, when she's on her own and something always brings her back, but she tries. Phone calls go unanswered, text messages are ignored, and voicemails not returned; most of them come from Stiles, because he's the only one who isn't completely shattered with the losses Beacon Hills has suffered. He's broken, too, but he can still breathe...or else he fakes it quite well.

Dara's pain always follows her; it never goes away. Even when she and Laura had moved clear across the country, the streets of Brooklyn were just as lonely and the nights were just as dark with the muffled sobs and everflowing tears of the Hale sisters, because it doesn't ever stop, no matter where she goes. Everything feels like it's her fault...it always has been. Maybe she's too hard on herself, but it's how she feels all the same.

Dara's ignoring the way her body is shaking because she's soaked to the bone, having been standing in front of the pathetic remnants of a life she used to love. She's crying in silence and the rain hitting her face only mixes with the tears, hiding them in plain sight if not for the red-rimmed eyes with the icy blue glow that betray her. She's whispering because there's no one to hear and the ones she wants wouldn't hear her even if she screamed.]

It never ends...I can't stop running in circles and I always end up right back here where I started. [She pauses and crosses her arms over her chest, hugging herself against the chill. Dara sniffles once and that's all she'll give herself.] Tell me what to do...just tell me what to do.

[Things that piss him off: people pulling disappearing acts, valid reasons or no. So maybe he suffered a bit from abandonment issues, though it wasn't through any fault of his father. His mom's death was that one thing he could never get over, that one sticking point that would never heal and was always raw and sensitive to the touch, like some kind of festering wound. The kids of Beacon Hills schools learned very quickly that mentioning Stiles' mom was the quickest way to wipe the smile off his face and have a ball of fury flying at them. He might not be able to fight for shit, but he'd do what damage he could before he was pulled off or knocked down.

Scott was pretty good about telling him where he was going and his dad always left a voicemail on his cell or the house phone, so Stiles knew that the people closest to him were taken care of. That they were safe. All until lately.

Lydia had locked herself away for the last week or so, Allison's death hitting her hard. Scott... Stiles was giving Scott space, but they still checked in, made sure everything was as good as it could be for now. Isaac had gone off with Argent for some sort of grieving process, but Stiles had also heard Isaac mentioning leaving town and he wondered if maybe that wasn't for the best.

Then there was Dara. She'd done her disappearing act -- again, heading off to god knows where for god knows what. Some kind of communing with nature or wolf crap that she never actually talked about, just gave him a scowl and told him to shut up before ignoring him. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. They'd lost too much for him to be okay with some kind of extended leave of absence from the former Alpha. He'd gone by her loft and her stuff was still there, so she hadn't done the full disappearing act again. So where the hell was she? Call after call had gone to voicemail and he'd left increasingly more frustrated messages until the last one had been along the lines of 'stubborn wolf asshole who needs to pick up your fucking phone before it gets shoved up your ass'.

Still no answer. He'd sat in his jeep outside the warehouse, hand tapping on the wheel as the rain beat down. He doubted she'd be at Peter's, so that didn't leave him with too many options. The only one that came to mind was a long shot, but he gave it a try anyway. He drove the jeep up to the Hale house, giving a triumphant 'aha!' when he saw a familiar vehicle parked up beside it. Headlights swung around as he went to park and he saw someone standing in the front of it.

In the rain. What the hell? Getting out, he pulled a paper he had out from the backseat, holding it up over his head and moving towards her, not at all concerned about breaking any sort of natural commune, splashing through a puddle and getting a foot soaked as he did.]

Dammit. Dara. Dara! What the hell are you doing out here? I've been calling you forever.

[She hears the jeep before she sees it in her periphery and Dara can't actually decide if she's frustrated or relieved that he's finally managed to find her. Stiles is obnoxious on a good day, but he's also probably the only person in Beacon Hills she really trusts. He's arrogant with reason, because he's nearly never wrong. Where Scott is an annoying do-gooder who just wants everyone to all get along and talk out their issues, Stiles has always been realistic. Neutralize the threat; resolve the issue. Dara tends to have the same frame of mind and so she leans toward Stilinski when Lydia's screams are too damn late and Scott just wants to sing fucking kumbaya around a bonfire ignoring the fact that the flames are likely to be put out in blood.

The jeep comes to a stop after the headlights break the increasing darkness from the gray sky above. A door opens; a door slams. Dara stares up at the house, hair matted down on her head and stuck to her face with the tears of the sky. She doesn't look at him when he approaches; doesn't let down her arms or move at all. She'd taken the moment before he'd opened the door to get out of the vehicle to regain her composure enough to at least appear to be pulled together, even if she still doesn't feel it. Her voice is low when she responds and she shivers a little, looking back at the house, because even a werewolf can get cold.]

Sorry.

[She doesn't really mean it and the tone behind it is flat to illustrate as such. Dara's never sorry when she leaves Beacon Hills. She's only sorry when she always ends up right back in front of this goddamn house, like it's the beacon, specifically for her, even though there's nothing left but the echoes of pain and the ghosts of a majestic matriarchal pack that should've continued to grow over generations but instead was snuffed out because Dara was young and stupid.]

What do you want, Stiles?

[He kept coming until he was standing beside her, newspaper moving from his head to hers, not that he felt it would do a fat lot of good. It was habit, mostly. His dad had raised him right, or so he liked to think. It didn't mean he thought of her as weaker than him, god no. She could break him with her pinky finger and probably not even break a sweat, but between his dad, his mom, and all those stupid old time movies he watched, he was the kind of guy that would hold open a door for a girl or not hit them (even if they hit him first) or... move his newspaper over the already sodden werewolf because shut up, she was a girl.]

What do I want?

[He looked at her incredulously, eyes wide as the rain started to flatten his hair down.]

I want you to pick up your goddamn phone. I want you to stop pulling disappearing acts. I want you to-- why are you just standing out here in the rain? Can werewolves get pneumonia? You're going to get pneumonia.

[The steady pattern of the rain is interrupted and Dara tilts her head back just slightly, her eyes rolling upward where she notices the now wet paper doing little to nothing to stop the rain coming down on her. In a fluid motion, both her head and her eyes shift to look at him, expression drawn and unimpressed. It's nice, the thought, but in execution, he's doing very little, because while it's blocking the rain, it's still leaking moisture onto her head that rolls down her forehead and cheeks all the same. The incredulous expression isn't lost on her, Dara just isn't willing to acknowledge it.]

We don't get pneumonia. And if we did, we'd heal from it, anyway. Is there something you need? Why exactly have you spent the past three days blowing up my phone? It's almost as if you can't take a hint.

[And yeah, okay. That sarcasm at the end probably was unwarranted, but it's there, anyway. She can dish it just as much as she can take it, after all.]

Edited 2014-05-29 08:46 (UTC)

[He's the walking embodiment of sarcasm. If he couldn't take a little dished at him, he had no right slinging it.

So she gets a look back, full of as much 'are you fucking kidding me right now?' that he can muster.]

Because you didn't answer. Idiot. Jesus, Dara, you'd think you'd know to just... check in while you're here. With everything that's happening, you think I'm just going to go along my merry way not giving a shit about anyone? Oh, sure, she's just gone off for three days to pretend to be a tree. Or has she? We don't know, you stupid, thickheaded moron. That's why you have a phone. To communicate with the outside world.

All you had to do was just answer and be like, "I'm doing girl stuff, screw off." But no, you pull the silent act, again, and...

If you weren't a girl, I'd strangle you.

[Dara gives a derisive huff. Since when has "doing (insert whatever here), screw off" ever been good enough for Stiles Stilinski? Or Scott McCall, for that matter. Neither of them are very good at minding their own goddamn business, but Stiles is exponentially worse, because he pushes. If she'd called to say that, he'd have asked if she was okay. If she'd said she was fine, he'd have asked if that was girl code for "so fucking far from okay it's not even funny," and the conversation would've dragged on pointlessly when all she'd wanted was to be alone.

At the idle threat, Dara's eyebrows flick up a challenge.]

Please, by no means let that stop you. I could use a good laugh.

Lucky for me, my dad raised me better than that. But just so you know, I'm mentally picturing it. Right now. Just...

[His free hand made that motion in front of him, like he was throttling a ghost.]

Look, I don't know what crawled up your butt and had you coming out here to do this... morbid ogling, but how about we go, huh? Maybe get you some dry clothes? Hot chocolate? We can drive by a Starbucks and I'll even spring for one with marshmallows...

[Because chocolate was a good bribe, wasn't it? Oh, wait--]

Wait, can werewolves have chocolate? It kills dogs.

[In response to his gesture, Dara gives him a tight-lipped smile that bites with the sheer volume of sarcasm dripping from it. She has to close her hand into a fist when he calls her reflection "morbid ogling" because she doesn't mean for the claws to come out right now but some part of her really wants them to.]

I'm fine. Leave me alone.

[She pauses to roll her eyes.]

And I wouldn't know; I don't like chocolate, anyway.

Do I need to point out all the ways that you are most definitely not fine? Come on, Dara. You need to get out of the ra-- what girl doesn't like chocolate? I thought that was genetically programmed into you.

Or maybe it is a werewolf thing. Huh.

[Her jaw sets at that. Dara doesn't really need feminism; most of the people in her life have seen her hold her own enough to speak volumes, but it's still never anything less than completely obnoxious when some idiot man — or boy — says something that stupid.]

The kind of girl who doesn't need Lifetime movies, Ben & Jerry's, and a box of tissues to get through a bump in the road. God, you're an idiot.

... Are you saying you're upset? See? I knew something was wrong. Come on, Dara. Let's get out of the rain and you can... I don't know, yell at me all about it in between curses and threats of bodily harm that are likely going to defy the laws of physics.

I'm saying I don't need — or want — chocolate. See, this? This is why I don't answer my phone when I want to be left alone, because "girl stuff, screw off," wouldn't be good enough for you and you know it. And stop—

[She grabs the wrist of the hand holding the paper over her head in a swift movement and twists it down to get the paper out of the way because it's ineffective and the smell of wet paper, as it turns out, is mildly stomach-turning.]

— patronizing me.

O-ow.

[Werewolf strength plus pissed off girl equaled OW, HALE. He looked at her, paper dropping from his fingers.]

I wasn't patronizing you. I was trying to help. Which you clearly need, since you're standing out here getting soaked. Werewolf or not, that can't be healthy, Dara. Could you maybe not break my arm, please> I kind of need it.

[It was his right one, after all.]

[After holding him in the awkward and, okay, slightly painful position for a short moment, Dara lets go and goes back to crossing her arms over her chest.]

It's not hurting me any. If you're uncomfortable with being soaked, then go sit in the car. Nobody's stopping you. Nobody even asked you to come out here. I was busy. I'd like to continue to be busy, but currently I'm being interrupted. It's rain, not acid. I'm not gonna melt, Stiles.

Why are you being so stubborn about this? You're not doing anything. You're out here... staring at the remains of a place you don't live anymore. It's not going to do you any good.

[He rubbed at his wrist, giving her a scowl at the bruises he'd have in the morning, but it didn't last long.]

I'm not going until you go. Alpha pack, darach, oni, nogistune... we don't know what's next and I'm not leaving you out here to figure it out for yourself.

[He had that stubborn look in his eye, like she'd have to actually knock him out and drive him home to get him to leave her alone, which would only last until he came to.]

[And now he's made her angry. She doesn't like to pull this card because she knows it hurts like hell, but he's just done it to her without even flinching. Dara finally moves, turning to face him and her jaw is set; she's trembling between the cold and her rage and she doesn't even notice that she's started crying again because she's seeing red.]

I'm not doing anything. You never go to the cemetery? You never go talk to your mom when things get too hard and you need to feel like she's close to you again? Because that's what I'm doing, Stiles. This is my cemetery; this—

[She throws an arm out to gesture toward the burned out shell of the house.]

—is my headstone to address. Now you can stand here and be stubborn and judge me if you want to, or you can leave me alone like I asked you to before I make you!

[Dara grabs Stiles by the front of his shirt and if she wasn't so exhausted with raw emotion, she probably would've lifted him by it and tossed him at his own stupid jeep. But she's tired and she's cold and she belatedly realizes she's crying, so she just gives him a shove and lets go of the shirt, turning away from him again and sitting on the hood of the Camaro.]

[If she wasn't a girl and wasn't clearly upset, he probably would have hit her. Or tried to. He's jerked in against her when she grabs his shirt, then pushed away again, and he feels a sickening twist in the pit of his stomach when he realizes that some of the wetness on her face isn't all rain. Nothing makes him feel more like shit than a girl crying.

Even Dara.

He waits until she's sitting on the car, then goes over, standing beside her. He doesn't say anything for a moment, chewing his lip, but then he answers her first question.]

No, I don't. Because she's not there. She's dead and has been for almost nine years.

[He felt that prickling in his eyes, looking away, looking at the ground as he talked.]

I had nightmares for the first year. I thought she was trapped in there, in the coffin. That she was suffocating in the dirt because I didn't get what dead was. Took a year of therapy and some medication to get over that. But no, I don't talk to her. She's gone and me talking into the air or the ground or at a headstone isn't going to bring her back. I'm not going to hear a voice out of nowhere telling me things I already know.

[He braced himself for the backlash, but he finished what he was trying to get across.]

They're dead, Dara. They're not here. They're not lingering. They're not coming back. If you want to talk to them to make yourself feel better, you don't have to stand out here to do it. Talk to them at home. Write them a letter. Do something that doesn't have you out here like this, alone.

[As Stiles speaks, finally breaking the almost painfully long pause that falls between them after her outburst, Dara's face is drawn again, attempting to appear as numb as she wishes she felt. She stops crying because it shows Stiles that she's weak and that's the last thing she wants to prove. Instead, she shivers again and sets her jaw, listening without looking back at him. Dara wants to tell him that it's different for werewolves because their bond as a pack is stronger, even, than a human family can understand.

And she can see or hear her mother at least, if she feels so inclined to use someone the way she did Peter to utilize Talia's claws. Except that's not even true anymore, because Peter has them, she thinks. Besides, if she's honest, that point is moot because everything in those claws is from the past. Not the present, nor the future.

Lastly, she wants to tell Stiles that he just doesn't get it, because a piece of Dara went up in flames here, too, and she is alive. She can't explain the pull this house has on her, because she barely understands it herself, but it's why she holed herself up in it so long when it barely provides shelter in its current form.

Stiles knows pain, Dara knows that. Stiles probably knows more pain than the rest of his pack. She still hates the firm finality in his words and her jaw clenches a little at the blunt reminder of what she already knows.]

It's not about them coming back. It's about how I feel when I'm out here.

[She pauses and lets out a breath, noting the way it fogs the air the tiniest bit in front of her.]

I don't feel like I'm alone when I'm here, whether or not I actually am.

Dara... you're not alone. Not if you don't want to be. I mean, you've got Scott. You've got me. Not like we're your top choices or anything, but... If you'd stop pushing everyone away, you'd have someone.

[Not like she didn't have good reason, and he knew it. Between her first love, her first time being betrayed, the darach... Peter. God, it was a wonder she didn't just go off and live in a cave. But she had options, if she wanted them.]

You really think your family would be cool with you standing out here in the rain? Or being off by yourself when god knows what is coming? I don't think so. I mean, I may have only met Peter and Cora, and god knows Peter's not the best example of your family, but... your mom sounded pretty solid. I think it's pretty likely she'd be coming out to smack you upside the back of the head and tell you to go get some dry clothes on.

So come on, Dara. I'm not going to smack you, but I am going to make that suggestion.

[Dara shook her head and only barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes at the mention that she could look to Scott. She didn't even bother trying to hold back the derisive huff. Scott embodied everything that Dara used to be; could've been. Scott was the personification of her failures. It was easier to push people away. If she didn't keep letting people get close she couldn't disappoint them. ...they couldn't disappoint her.

Still, she finally ventures a look in Stiles' direction and wonders why he gives a shit. Her face is still drawn and she's still shaking because it's cold. He has no real reason to be putting forth the effort that Dara can figure out. It hasn't escaped her notice that he's soaked to the bone, now, too. Just because she is.

She sounds as confused and exasperated as she feels when she breathes out the question because she doesn't trust her own voice.]

Why do you even care, Stiles?

That's a pretty dumb question, given all we've been through. Why wouldn't I care?

[He didn't look hurt by it. If anything, he looked like he'd been expecting that sort of response. Dara didn't trust anyone, that was a given. Stiles could help her, save her, be saved by her, bleed with her a thousand times and he doubted she'd trust him to pick up a carton of milk from the store. A part of him wanted to take it personally, because come on... but he couldn't. He got it.

And after the latest stunt with that creepy demon bastard, he couldn't say he trusted himself a hundred percent either.]

[Frowning, Dara looks down again, her saturated hair falling over her shoulders in stuck together clumps. She doesn't really want to answer that question because the only way she knows how is going to sound a lot more whiny and self-pitying than she wants it to sound. She doesn't want anyone's pity; she doesn't need it.

The fact of the matter is that she hasn't been used to anyone giving a good goddamn about her in the past decade or more unless they want something out of her, with the sole exception of her late older sister. Kate wanted an easy way to kill her family. Jennifer wanted power. Scott wanted to keep his hands clean while getting Gerard out of the way. Jackson wanted to be a werewolf. There were more examples, but she didn't really care to think about them because it made her feel weak and stupid, two things she really hated about herself and didn't want anyone else to see. Especially if that someone was Stiles.

Sniffing a little, not because she's crying but because it's cold and her nose is starting to run, Dara tucks her sodden hair behind her ears and finally looks back at him with a shrug. Her words aren't asking for the pity the context suggests, because her tone is casual and matter-of-fact. It just is what it is, to her, by now.]

Because most people don't, Stiles.

You'd think with those keen werewolf senses of yours you would have clued in that I'm not most people.

[He took another step closer, hesitantly reaching out a hand to rest on her shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze.]

Come on. Let's get you out of the rain. We don't have to do hot chocolate or anything girly. Let's just... go get dry, okay?

[He was cold, shivering a bit and wondering if she felt it as much as he did. He also wondered if his dick could actually shrink up to the size of a pea, because that's what it felt like right now. Oh good, he had a nub.

Nope, brain out of stupid random thoughts. Back on the shivering werewolf moping on her car.]

Stiles Stilinski | Teen Wolf | OTA

let me know if this is okay :)

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