bakerstreet | (no subject)

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The Other-Wordly Meme

Words are magical things; they can have so many lovely connotations and varied histories.
Words have family trees just like people. They are linked to each other.
Some words are full of flavor and color and describe things you never suspected there were words for.
Words are why we're here.

The meme is simple: post a comment with your muse's name and canon in the subject line.
List any preferences you may have ("No Shipping," "No Smut," etc.), if you decide to leave the next step up to responders.
Responders (or original posters, if they so decide), go to the Other-Wordly blog and hit 'Random' until you get a word. Use the word as a prompt for an RP scenario. Do this several times, if you like. Mix and match. Have fun with it!
Don't stop with a word, though! Words can often have etymologies that are at odds with their current meanings. Words can shift connotations over time. Let your imagination carry you with the words as its wind.

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[Word: sweven]

Brigid is yanked out of sleep. Normally, she doesn't put stock in the nightmares that sometimes plague her. Ever since her father died, ever since the Alpha had been so strange about it...

But this one, she can't shake. There's something, something that tugs at the wolf, tugs at her being and sends her careen cross-country in the car she'd finally bought herself, toward wolves that she doesn't know, doesn't care to know, but can't get out of her mind.

Night after night, the same vision comes to her. Alpha eyes in the dark. A short-haired human boy standing proud and trying to protect the wolves fanned out behind him. A dilapidated burnt out husk of a former home.

The wolf knows where she is going. She just follows the instincts that drag her ever westward. Somewhere around Idaho, she ditches her phone to stop the incessant calls from her Alpha.

Pulling into a place called Beacon Hills, Brigid pushes herself out of the car. She's stiff, bruised and there must be seven feet of road dirt caked on her. The smell of wolves and humans brushes past her face. Her car needs filled and so does she. Looking around, she scrapes her fiery hair into a sloppy bun at the base of her neck and heads for the convenience store. Food is -

She stops, seeing the boy walking out. Her mouth is open before she can think. "Stiles. You're Stiles, aren't you?"

He has a cookie out of the bag he'd bought in his mouth, hand in to grab another when he hears his name from a voice he doesn't recognize. He looks up, cheek bulging and looking exactly like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Maybe?" His mouth is full of cookie and he's trying not to spray crumbs everywhere, but he's wondering why a redhead girl he's never met before knows his name. This can't bode well.

The dream is real. She doesn't know how, or why, or anything else, but it's real, and she can't... Why? Why her? Why... Questions better asked of a priest. Except she's a long way from Father Frankie right now. Maybe she should pick up a phone.

Brigid realizes she's staring and shakes her head. "Sorry. Sorry, it's been a long trip. Would it be possible to get coffee or something? I... this is all so weird and I wouldn't blame you if you just walked away, but I really do need to talk to you." And his wolf-friends, but it's too public to say that.

She's desperate. The dream gets more vivid with each night she sleeps. All she wants is to go home.

He looks at her, then does a complete three-sixty, turning around to see if maybe she'd gotten him confused with someone else. His hand, still holding the bag of cookies, is to his chest, brows up as high as they can go as he looks at her. "Me?"

Yep, he's landed in some strange world where women just talk to him for no reason other than because they can. "Why?" Because he's smooth like that and has to question the reasoning behind it.

She bites her lip and wonders how far this vision thing will go. Brigid has never had anything happen to her like this. Her fingers fidget with the crucifix around her neck.

"Is there... Look, this is really weird for me, and I'm sorry. Is there a burnt out house around here? Maybe in the woods?" If that's true, then the rest she'll just have to accept. Or go to Confession and then seek a lot of professional help.

Does he even know wolves? The scent surrounding him says yes, he does. But... it's possible to be friends with a human who has no idea you're a wolf. Her best friend doesn't know. And will never know.

She's so flustered, she forgot to introduce herself.

Gee, that was a really specific question from an apparent stranger. She looked like she was two breaths away from having some kind of manic attack and he pitched his voice low, like he was talking to a potentially crazy person. "If you're looking for a tour guide, you've really come to the wrong guy." Which was bull, since Stiles knew all the ins and outs of his town, including things he shouldn't.

He gives her a hopefully mollifying smile, then starts to back away. It would just be his luck to be jumped by a crazy lady in the parking lot while munching cookies. His dad would have to come identify the body and then he'd wind up in the morgue where the coroner would slice his clothes off and find out today was Batman boxers day.

She knows she sounds crazy. She sounds crazy to her own ears. She knows this is weird and frankly, Brigid would back away from the crazy herself.

"I'm sorry. I..." She takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself down. Then, she holds out her hand. "My name is Brigid Finn." She offers, then, just for the briefest flash, her eyes turn blue. "And I really need to talk to you."

Please let him understand.

The flash of blue has him flinching, then turning to look around, wondering if anyone saw. Oh god, new werewolf in town who knew his name and had to talk to him. Where was Scott when he needed him? Like... now.

Swallowing the mouthful of cookie, he brushed his hand off on his pants, holding it out and giving hers a brief shake, as if he was expecting claws to shoot out and puncture him. "Okay, well, you already know my name." Which was weird. Was he in a werewolf newsletter?

She tucks her fingers into her front jeans pockets and sighs. "I know. And..." Her stomach growls. It's been a few hours since she ate. Oh well. She blushes but pushes on. "This is going to sound weird and crazy and I promise that I'm not here to hurt anyone." She won't. Not unless she's forced to. "I... I had this dream and it had to do with you and your friends and a burnt house? I'm from Boston, I go to college." She doesn't even know what she's defending herself about. "But I just spent eight days driving crosscountry because a dream gave me your name and warned me that there was big trouble."

She scrubs a hand over her face. "My uncle is going to slaughter me."

"You had a dream." And so began the start of an inspirational speech. No, wait, focus, Stiles. "In Boston. And it made you drive here with my name and trouble."

That didn't sound like a recipe for disaster at all. Why him? He was being so good, really. All he wanted was some cookies. Was he not allowed to have cookies anymore? This was punishment for making his dad eat healthy, wasn't it? "I have literally no idea what to say to that."

"How do you think I feel? I'm in..." She almost said 'another pack's', "someone else's territory and instead of asking permission, I'm floundering around trying to figure out why I dreamt of you standing in front of," a pack, "a clan, defending them against a rival... clan." This was getting complicated.

"Please, I swear I'm not crazy, just... can we talk somewhere that's less... public?" She wants to talk about wolves and packs and things and couldn't. This is just too public. "You can even bring the aconite if it'll make you feel better."

"You dreamed that?" With the Alpha pack infringing on the territory, and getting all up in Derek and Scott's business, that was a pretty coincidental image.

"Talk, right." When she mentioned the wolfsbane, he frowned at her. "Why would you..? Never mind. Just, no. No need for that. Uh, there's a park over there. And a bench."

Because no, he was not going somewhere too private with some strange werewolf with whacky dreams.

Some of the tension goes out of Brigid's shoulders. She'd offered the aconite, because if he's around wolves, then he knows how dangerous it is. She wants him to be safe.

Nodding, she follows him across the street and settles onto the bench. She pitches her voice low, when she begins to talk.

"It's bad form for a wolf to go into another pack's territory without at least a cursory by-your-leave to the local Alpha, especially if they're unknown to one another." She explains, fidgeting with the edge of her hoodie sleeves. "But... in my dream, there's two Alphas behind you, with a few betas. Then, there's Alphas in front of you." She's not sure how to describe it. "All of you are in this burnt out home, that's half gone. The Alphas in front of you are... twisted, somehow. Wrong. They're Alphas, but almost Omegas." She sighs and shoves bright red hair out of her face. "Is any of this making any sort of sense?"

"If it's bad form, how come it seems to happen all the time?" And by 'all the time', he meant the Omega that Scott had seen butchered and the infringing Alpha pack.

He knew where she was talking about, knew it pretty damn well, in fact. It made sense, but he didn't know why she'd come all the way from Boston to tell him things they already knew. "Well, yeah. But I'm not really Alpha central, you know? Shouldn't you be talking to Derek about this?"

"It doesn't. There have been wolves that have crossed over into our territory and had to find the alpha, not knowing who they are. Sometimes, they're just passing through and that doesn't require a stop with the locals." She passed through a lot of places with wolves on her way here.

Brigid cocks her head to the side, studying with warm brown eyes. "Who's Derek?" She asks, completely ingenuously. She doesn't know the locals. At all.

"Who's Derek?" Great. It just figures she knew his name, but not the name of the one she should know. "Derek's the Alpha. Derek Hale. He'd be the one you, uh, saw me with in your dream."

Because he still wasn't sure about the whole dream thing.

"One of them. There were two behind you. I only knew your name because someone in the dream said it." Brigid admits. She fidgets with the ragged ends of her hoodie. "I should speak to him before I spend too much time here. Let him talk to my Alpha. Talk to my Alpha - since he doesn't know where I am."

She's babbling. "Sorry." She doesn't know what else to say. "If you could introduce me, I'd appreciate it." Brigid sits there uncomfortably for a moment. "Oh. Stay here!"

Without looking, Brigid dashes across the street to her car and roots through a pack for a moment. Another dash back, and she hands him a notebook. "Here. This is everything in my dreams. You, the others, what happened. I kept it as accurate as I could."

Jesus H. Motherfucking Dick!

-=bitches the pale skin, white haired kid as he kicks the front bumper of the groady old, orange, volkswagen beetle. he doesn't even look old enough to drive the thing, but that's clearly not his main concern at the moment. the shredded tire is.=-

Can't even pop a tire like a normal fucking ride can you. Nooo, you gotta go turn it into a whirling pinwheel of rubbery, flaccid bullshit.

[It's the language that catches Stiles' attention, colorful and brazenly breaking the quiet as he's walking across the parking lot to get into his jeep. He looks over at the beetle, then the boy kicking the wheel.

He comes over to get a look, because really, it's not that often someone wrecks their tire so spectacularly.]

Bad luck, dude.

-=dave shoots the kid a look over the rims of his glasses, flashing red eyes before shoving the shades back up again=-

The fuck, y'all pave your roads with shrapnel?

[Have a look, buddy. Stiles made a show of pointedly looking up and down the road.]

Doesn't look like it. Maybe you bought some crappy tires.

My tires are just fine.

-=actually they're kind of shitty and bald, it's a wonder they lasted this long as it is=-

Sure they are.

[Sure they weren't. Stiles could see the condition they were in, even through the shredding. He was lucky it hadn't happened when he'd been on the highway.]

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Stiles Stilinski | Teen Wolf | OTA

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