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Vicious Madam Mari Captain
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 Posted: Fri Jan 02, 2015 1:30 pm
 April 20th, 2013
The day had started off so well. Too bad it all went south from there. He had to deal with the morning traffic which included kids trying to desperately be on time for class. Then when he’d actually gotten to the airport to pick up his ticket he had to deal with the whole getting a better seat for his charge. Considering the fact that she’d set it up to be coach and there was the whole not related thing to deal with, he’d simply bought the extra ticket and instructed it to be given out to his flight companion. After that he’d made his way to the business class of the appropriate plane, checking his bags in the right area, and took his seat. His headphones were the first thing to go in as he situated himself on the seat away from the window. Peter had a feeling that he was going to need the slight buffer from the pitches that were soon to be thrown his way.
On the other side of the terminal…Things felt off, and with Lydia, that's usually a bad thing. It didn't feel like death, or a scream. It was more like pent up anxiety. Her mother insisted on going on this trip, even with the past events. Seeing Aiden, hearing about Allison's sighting as well. Lydia didn't think this was the time. But what mother says, goes. So Lydia had enough clothes to last her what felt was going to be forever. Most trips she went with her mom are back in the past, with both of her parents. This time she was being left in the care of a man her mother trusted. 'You'll eventually trust him completely, though he's a bit rough around the edges'. Like that really helped Lydia's nerves at all.
The woman packed her bags for goodness sake, it almost felt she was kicking her out, to an entirely different country. Nonetheless with a person she wasn't familiar with, at least that's what her mother lead her to believe. Last night had left her tired and she didn't even have the energy to argue much. With her mother in another class, she was unhappy with things. Why was her mother seemingly in some sort of mood? She happened to do this when she was hiding something. She tried to throw Lydia a surprise party when she was eight and it got a little crazy. Grandma Martin had to calm her daughter in-law while Lydia watched in the distance. Nat wasn’t very good at lying to Lydia.
The plane seemed as if it was going to sit there for another half hour, waiting for departure. It felt too hot and she was uncomfortable. "Dress warm, of course." Lydia rolled up her sleeves.
A few rows down, Peter tilted his head back but towards the window ever so slightly. The scent of something familiar drifted through the air up to him with everything else. There were plenty of people on the plane but this one was distinct. Even though all the scented body soaps and creams, through the perfume she wore and the synthetic cosmedics, he could smell her. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or annoyed. If she had missed the plane then he couldn’t be at fault now could he? At the same time if she had missed the plane then that definitely signaled something was wrong, something that he didn’t know about. Peter wasn’t into not knowing things when they involved a gamble on his life.
Looking into his reflection in the small pane of glass, there was the sense of a disconnect. He hadn’t gone out of Beacon Hills in years. More years than he could, quite literally, remember actually. He hadn’t left the town since before the fire that destroyed his family and everything else in his life. Before all of that he never had a problem leaving - college, business, pleasure...it didn’t matter. Beacon Hills was always there when he returned. His family’s homestead. Just the same as he always left it. With some minor adjustments to allow for the passage of time and shifts in the economy of course. At it’s roots it was always the same place. It would still be the same place when he got back too. He would still be the same person. It just felt odd to finally be leaving it once again, even if this trip wasn’t completely by his choice.
Maybe it would be a good trip. He hadn’t been to Ireland since he was in High School. The years had made his memory a little foggy but he knew that he’d enjoyed it. It was like a seed of knowledge sitting in his stomach. He knew that what inside of this seed would grow once he got reaquainted with the place but for now it was sealed up tight, bearing no semblance of what it would become in bloom.
“Did you need anything before we take off sir?” the flight attendant asked.
Peter responded with a quiet ‘no’ before falling into a clouded state of awareness. He was still aware of any danger in the surroundings course, he just wasn’t listening intently to his surroundings. He didn’t need to hear people talk about their oh so exciting trip they planned, of the business they planned to conduct. That was all pointless drabble in his ears that he spaced out with all the instructions that the flight attendant dished out. Oxygen masks, seats, exits...the whole normally stuff that one generally got. Then came the launching. It was smoother than he remembered them being. Which could probably be traced to the fact that planes had about a decade more time to develop. Or maybe it was just better weather. The world may never know. What he did know was that one of the attendants came around to make sure he had his ticket, and to make sure that the ticket he had was the appropriate one for his seat.
Hours later...found Peter sitting in a comfortable chair. Like with most international flight the one he’d been on had a layover point. This one happened to be at the O’hare airport in Chicago. The city felt suffocating to him. There were a lot of sounds and scents from all the people that lived there without enough natural elements to make up for that. As he sat one of the lounges of the airport, sipping on a cinnamon coffee he’d gotten ten minutes prior, Peter really had no idea how Derek had dealt with living in New York City for a few years. Really...he was starting to wonder if his nephew was broken in more ways than he’d first imagined.
As Peter sat his cinnamon coffee on the small table in front of him, he checked the time. They had about twenty minutes till the earliest boarding. That should be plenty of time to finish the coffee and the chapter he was reading. Assuming, of course, that there wasn’t anything else pressing he needed to divert his attention to.
That was how Lydia found him. He was sitting with a confidence that might have made people believe that he owned the entire room, if not the building. As though he had every right to be there...where she was supposed to be meeting her mother’s friend. The one that was supposedly rough around the edges. Lydia’s fist clenched as her carry on fell down her arm when her elbow went slack. As she stood there, in the crowded and noisy hall looking into the lounge, the pieces started coming together. This was why her mother hadn’t said anything to her. It wasn’t for the fact that she wanted her to discover who her chaperone was for herself. Oh no. It was to make sure that she hadn’t run back to the car and went home by herself.
Lydia moved back down the hall and pulled out her cell phone. She needed to distract herself from thinking about what her mother had just trapped her into. The easiest thing do to that was the idea which had popped into her mind - Stiles' birthday. So she called him and chatted. Not long after she decided that it was time to face the demon head on. Taking a deep breath, Lydia fixed her purse back into the crook of her arm and pushed forward. There was no way she was okay with this. Not in the least. For right now, however, she needed to know what the hell her mother was thinking and why the hell Peter had gone along with it.
”What are you doing?” Was the first question she demanded the answer to.
Peter looked up from his book. He knew as soon as she walked into the room he wasn’t going to be able to finish his chapter. Shame, it had just started to get good too. Making note of the page, Peter set the book in his lap and took a sip of his coffee. He rose a brow up at her to make sure she knew that the answer was very obvious.
Inferated, Lydia glared down at the werewolf. ”I mean here, in this airport. Why aren’t you back at your apartment?”
”Because your mother so kindly asked me to make sure the trip to Ireland goes smoothly.”
Lydia turned her nose up, looking to the side. That was the best answer he could give her? She scuffed as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
”Last I knew, my mother was ready to murder you.”
Peter shrugged lightly. The idea wasn’t exactly a new concept for him and they both knew that. The fact that she hadn’t made a serious attempt after finding out what he’d done to Lydia was what actually surprised him. Of course that little screaming trick at his apartment hadn’t been pleasant, but Lydia didn’t need to know about that.
”We settled our differences.”
”You’re lying,” Lydia argued, her voice suddenly taking on a heated, hushed tone.
She looked around ever so slightly to see if there was anyone staring at them. Thankfully there was not. She didn’t know how much she could push the envelope, however, and the last thing she wanted to was to be dragged into the security office for questionable behavior. Even if Peter would get dragged in with her and probably be viewed as the party more at fault, the whole ordeal would be much more hassle than it was worth. Not to mention she’d end up missing her flight and that was not something she was prepared to do.
”If you don’t believe me, call her and find out for yourself.”
Lydia shifted her weight once more, turning her gaze away from Peter as she stared out of a window. A sound of exasperation fell from her lips even though she made no move to pull out her cell phone. Still, she couldn’t let him know that she already knew this was her mother’s doing. That would give him too much of an advantage.
”I’m not going to call her, she’s at work.”
”Then you’ll never know for sure will you?”
Turning back to look at him, Lydia leveled him with the best intimidating gaze that she could muster. Considering that he didn’t look phased by it at all she knew it wasn’t working. That didn’t mean she was going to shrink back. Oh no.
”So let’s assume that she’s somehow okay with that. And that’s a big assumption seeing as I’m not okay with this. Why are you here?”
Peter rolled his eyes as he sat his cup of coffee back down on the side table. ”I told you already. She asked me to.”
”That doesn’t mean you had to say yes.”
”When was the last time your mother didn’t get what she wanted?” Peter deflected without batting an eye. ”Natalie is a very convincing woman.”
”And how did she manage to convince you?” Lydia pressed.
It might seem a little redundant but this wasn’t exactly the usual situation. She was in a place she’d never been before with a man that had made her life hell not too long ago. Sure he hadn’t done anything to her since he got back but that didn’t mean very much to her. The fact that he’d been helping out where needed, first with the kanima and then with the vampires, meant even less to her.
”I owed her a favor,” Peter replied smoothly as he stood up.
Lydia gave an unconvinced sound. A favor? That was the best he could come up with? She wasn’t going to buy that for a second. Since when did her mother do anything for Peter that required him to pay her back?
”I don’t believe you.”
Peter shrugged one shoulder as he finished off his hot beverage. ”You don’t have to believe me. That’s your choice. Now, we should get going. Early loading starts in five minutes.”
She was about to argue but held her tongue. Especially when he started walking out of the lounge. Lydia crossed her arms, her bag hitting her uncomfortably in the middle, before stomping her foot. This was not cool. Not at all. Lydia lingered in the room, trying to figure out how she wanted to proceed. She could decide not to get on the plane. In which case she’d miss it, obviously, but that meant she’d have to go home. Her mother made it clear that she needed to go on this trip. She’d practically shoved her out of the car and sped away. Lydia had no idea why that was of course. She should be used to that - not knowing what was going on. But she wasn’t. In fact, it was still frustrating. What was so important about this trip that her mother had spent so much money on the plane tickets? Why had she thrown her only daughter out into the wind, to travel to some strange country she’d never been to? And why did she as Peter of all people to go with her?
Shaking herself up a little, Lydia started forward. The only way to find out was to see this through. Maybe when she got to her destination she’d get more answers. With that in mind Lydia set off through the airport. She navigated her way to the right gate and passed her ticket on before being guided inside. Just like before she had a business seat - an upgrade from the ticket that her mother had purchased. Now that she knew who bought it she almost wanted to shove it back in his face. She didn’t want anything from him because they always came with strangle cords attached. When she found out where she was sitting for the last stretch of the trip, she nearly rebelled. The attendant motioned her to the seat right beside none other than Peter Hale himself. He had the window seat and that nearly caused her to snort. Of course he had the window seat. Then again the seats were spacious in this area. Each column only had two seats by one another and there was a slight incline room for comfort. The seats weren’t designed to lay all the way back but they had a bit of wiggle room. That wiggle room didn’t help in the least with the fact that Peter sat right beside her, already paying more attention to his book than he was to her indignation. Rude.
”I know this might seem like an impossible task, but why don’t we try to handle this civilly?” Peter questioned as the attendant walked away.
Lydia shivered. The tone he used was hushed as to avoid being overheard. She understood the practicality of it. However, she couldn’t help but remember the last time he spoke in whispers to her. It was inside of her mind, a place that should have been sacred. He’d opened her eyes to the truth of werewolves running around and scared her with the truth of what he’d become all in the same night. She could still feel his breath against her neck, the heat from the leather like skin of his burnt flesh as he talked ever so calmly into her ear. It wasn’t exactly the best feeling in the world.
”I didn’t think civil was in your vocabulary,” Lydia said as she positioned her carry on into the right area before taking her seat.
Peter didn’t let that go. ”In case you’re forgetting, Lydia, I’ve been nothing but civil. Unless I’m mistaken wasn’t I the one that took you out into the woods? Wasn’t that where we found out what we were dealing with.”
”Where I found out.”
”You never would have been able to without me. Face it, sweetheart, you couldn’t have done it if it wasn’t for my help even if you had found the place on your own. Which is very unlikely.”
Lydia made a sound of disgruntlement. She turned on her hips and decided that she was done talking to him. The sooner the rest of the trip passed the better as far as she was concerned. When she got to Ireland she’d find out where she needed to go and she wouldn’t have to put up with him or his attitude. What was her mom thinking with this trip? Oh right - that she’d eventually trust Peter with her life. Slim chance of that ever happening. Her mother must have been going insane. That was the only logical explanation.
For the next couple of hours, Lydia contemplated all the possible reasons she was going to Ireland with a (not complete) pyscho werewolf. After that she’d drifted off to sleep, her head falling to her side as she sought out the warmest thing near her. Peter cast a glance down at her and readjusted her in her seat every once in a while. But it seemed no use. She was determined to make him into her personal space heater. At some point he leaned his head against the ridge of the window and gave up. It was a long flight for the both of them.
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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2015 4:03 am
April 21st, 2013
With Lydia's head leaned on Peter’s shoulder her hair had become a soft fiery mess upon his shoulder. Flyaways making roadways of red traffic. Inside of that strawberry blond sea was turning thoughts of her past. Hazy flashes of her mother’s lips gaped open her eyes screwed tightly shut. Whilst things moved on normally around the two of them. Her fathers arms swinging and his mouth nearly as wide as her mothers. Her grandmother moving about the house with books stacked in her arms. As little Lydia’s body moved throughout the house these images following her, plagued by the sound of crackling wood behind her. Softly but escalating, her father’s voice called to her. “Lydia put that down!” Lydia’s head of curls turned to face him, his blood pressure rising to shade his face in a blanket of red. Looking at her tiny hand, draped around the binding of a picture with water damage lining and blurring details of a charcoal home, grand and beautiful. Her father’s voice rose to meet the woods popping. Her little hands gently setting it down. Her grandmother’s voice roared over them, calling her name.
A soft groan left Lydia as she felt the humm of a car engine beneath her. She had moved from an airplane through to baggage claim into a strange unknown vehicle. Adjusting, her eyes moved to Peter, the assumed driver shutting the door behind him. Lydia felt the imprint of her own stray hairs on her cheek. She could have been drooling for all she knew but, with a quick swipe of her hand, she found that her chin was dribble free. ”I didn’t realize I was so knackered.” More or less talking to herself.
”Finally awake, sweetheart?” Peter asked with a smirk on his lips, the rest of the face painted in smug satisfaction.
Lydia could only put together that Peter drug her lifeless napping body out.
“Well, I assume that was mildly embarrassing.” She spoke, rubbing the warm spot on her cheek, and then her eyes. Smudging her makeup softly to form a spotty mistake.
“Hm, I wouldn’t say embarrassing,” the werewolf said in a musing voice.
It only take a moment for Peter to tip the airfield attendant and have the taxi car door closed. He unbuttoned his jacket as he moved in to take the back seat right behind her, a challenging look in his eyes. They had a some what civil cover to keep up, at least until they went their separate ways at the destination. Then as far as he was aware they wouldn’t have to have any contact after that. Which, as he had explained to Lydia on the plane, would work out in both of their favors.
”Care to carry on Peter?” Lydia rolled her head on her shoulders to face him, coming face to face with the older male. Perhaps uncomfortably close, at least it would have been in the past.
“Did you want me to carry on carrying you into the house when we get there?” Peter tossed back, only looking at her through the corner of his eyes as the driver got into the front seat. “You might even be awake this time.”
Auburn brows pulled together, her lips pulling accordingly. ”I do value these shoes. It may just be mandatory.”
”All you’d have to do is say please,” Peter grinned in a mischievous sort of way just to push her buttons.
Honestly, the driver and Lydia looked like they were about to be sick. Though that could be her stomach catching up with his idiotic grin. Lydia’s eyes seemed to naturally roll, but her own grin pulled on her lips. Mostly because they rubbed each other the wrong way most times. ”I will hold you to that.”
The car ride fell into an uneasy silence, though the reason was left up for debate inside of the poor driver’s mind. The scenery was, as any cliche guide might point out, very green. Mostly from the wet grass and moss that seemed to grow even in the most unlikely area. The roads were a lot narrower and winded about more than either Peter or Lydia were used to. Towns, or villages, or whatever else the locals wanted to call them, passed like clouds. Which seemed to cover the majority of the sky.
An hour later, when the local clock ticked to one pm, the finally got to their destination. Or more aptly, when Peter had the car pull over to a small dirt path. The area was blocked with thick, heavy trees save for the path that curved around small grassy mounds. Getting out of the car, Peter instantly went to the trunk and when it was opened, sat Lydia’s bags by the path.
“Ahem.” Lydia ever so dramatically called. Legs dangling above the ground, crossed daintily together. Her hands over her knees, those placed softly on one another. ”A lady never forgets.” Her chin pointed upwardly, pretending to be more snooty than she was.
”When I see a lady, I will be sure to compliment her memory,” Peter tossed back.
Lydia deadpanned. He won this round, telling him so with her feet hitting the ground and moving forward to them. She sacked up, looking to the taller male. ”Parting ways is such sweet sorrow.” Sarcasm deep.
“And a deals a deal - I promise that I will not see you on the ‘morrow,” Peter said with a bit of a nod as a send off, the car puttering off right as he closed the door behind him.
Lydia gave him a proper wave and smile, given she would be alone in a strange place it was kind of bittersweet. He was familiar, though she wouldn’t miss his sarcasm, and banter. Turing their separate ways, Lydia headed towards the tree cover. Her heart was both excited but strangely afraid of what was in store for her. The idea of family, distant as it may be, was waiting for her ahead. Being her paternal side given, she was ready for anything. Except the house being burnt to a crisp.
Lydia set her bags down, opening up her little travel set. Filled with addresses, ticket and passport jumble that was labeled important. This was correct, given the mailing number was the same and Lydia watched the street name go by sometime up the road. Spinning on her heel, managing to grab her bags as she did so made a beeline back to the road she came from. Of course, Peter was absent from her line of sight. Her teeth grit together uncomfortably. That werewolf b*****d was a milion miles away. Looked like Lydia was on her own until she could find some civilization.
First things first, the house and family she was supposed to stay with were gone. Dragging her bag behind, Lydia made the small trek up the way of loose gravel. The house was burned to the foundation, a standing charred pillar or two, but nothing much more than that. From first examination, it was a large house; several floors, spanning square footage that would up her house to shame, and a possible basement. Lydia dared to get closer, touching the charcoal castles base. With no walls to look for patterns, Lydia was a lost hope for this. She patted the grass wit her blackened hands, looking for cleanliness.
With her knees pressed in the soft irish grass, Lydia dusted her hands free of stain, a crack met her ears. Like a scared deer she stood, waiting for another sign of movement.
”Peter?” She called cautiously. Not funny, not one bit.
Her voice was met with another snap but one going off far in the distance. She decided to head to the main road and look for humans. Not snapping twigs. Bags, important papers and snack pack. Getting back on the road, one that seemed to be heading towards civilization, would turn out to be the wrong way.
Lydia may be smart, but she's never had a way with direction. Her mother never made her join Girl Scouts or anything like that, so she tended to get lost. Books could only teach her so much you know.
Taking what looked like a traveled path,the female stepped into what was unknown. I guess you could consider the entirety of Ireland unknown. The unknown house, the unknown family that lived in the unknown house, and her unknown whereabouts. she had to admit, though she wasn't a fan of the forest most times, it was pretty. If most of her time spent in the forest wasn't wrecked with bad fortune she might just enjoy this.
Unfortunately the weather wasn’t anything she was used to. The air was moist nearly constantly, or so it would seem. And the temperatures were a lot cooler as well. Coupled with the fact that the sun couldn’t stay up forever during her struggle to find civilization meant that Lydia Martin was highly under dressed for her trek.
’Mom is saying I told you so.’ Lydia thought, as if she and her mother could read each others minds. Which for all she knows could be true. Moms always have a set of eyes in the back of their heads.
As the sun slipped below the green horizon, not that she would really be able to see it from between the densely packed trees, the animals of the night started to come out to play. Scratching on the ground and tree bark echoed in mysterious ways, as though the area were just made to elict fear out of the poor little redhead.
In some other alternate universe where there was a living Allison Argent, they might be out hunting or exploring. More violence on Allison’s end, given that even in the interest of scientific discovery it was hard for Lydia to dissect the frog in seventh grade. Although there was that one time when a stray dog decided that her harmless, designer bag might have made a great urinal. That struck a nerve, Lydia got that bag as a gift.
Was that a howl?
No. Not a canine howl anyways. Lydia knew those sounds by heart by now. Or at least she should.
A screech?
Oh god that was a screech. It sounded like a woman was screaming into the night.
If it was another banshee, she certainly hoped she didn’t sound like that. Unappealing, and frightening.
Given that Lydia still as the mentality of a human, her response was to go as fast as possible in the opposite direction of the noise. It could have been a crappy horror movie scene. Tripping over foliage and fauna like some ditsy dame. She grunted in aggravation with both herself and her heavy luggage. Did she really need all of this? When suspectedly safe, she stopped, lungs hurting. ”Damn you Peter, and this trip.” She sighed, lungs making friends with the air again.
Peter, for his part, was keeping both ears out for her. Of course, he wasn’t following her. That might be considered rude. But he was a werewolf, born and bred, and that came with certain privileges. And his hearing and never quite gone out like his other senses had upon rising from the dead. Since then, of course, everything had come back to him. His hearing just happened to be highly tuned into the little redhead who had helped make that all possible. Which was probably why he was smirking despite the fact that he was on his knees scrubbing out the tiles in the shower of his latest living quarter’s.
The female turned to her side, seemingly everything still together. Lydia did not enjoy sweat, especially in cold weather that seemed to have the same humidity percentage as the African Congo.
The Earth seemed to let out a light sigh. The air stilled for a moment as the breath released. And with it, tiny drops of water sailed through the air. The trees caught what they could but somehow, for whatever natural reason (and she knew there were valid explanations to it, science could tell her that much even if she didn’t want to hear about it right now) the ground below her moistened quicker than anything else. Like it was a giant sponge just waiting to turn the innocent grass and moss covered forest floor into her own personal soft, muddy hell.
Taking in a similar breath, one softer but filled with more aggravation, she let out a gentle ”Damnit.” Figuring that she should get a move on. It was wet and uncomfortable but mostly manageable until he just ran into more trees. Why were there so many damn trees? Yet another simple question she could answer, but was unwilling to do so.
Meanwhile, two miles away, Peter neatly packed all the bathroom cleaning supplies in the singular cabinet under the sink. He’d gotten most of the fireplace cleaned out (though he hadn’t planned on lighting that soon) as well as the kitchen, closets, and tiny sitting area next to the fire place. With the bathroom done there was only one last place to clean out - the top area where sleeping would hopefully take place. Of course once he finished that he’d have to sweep the bottom area again as the dust and other such atrocities resettled. But it felt satisfying to see this little cabin almost all done. At least to all of his senses.
Unfortunately he was the only person out of the two who felt good about the day so far. Lydia was getting to the end of her very sort stick. Hair clinging to her face did tend to spark her fiery attitude. Huffing in annoyance she pulled her luggage around overgrown roots. With her yank, her muddied case slammed into the back of her leg. Specifically, her achilles and calf.
”For ******** sake!” Lydia let the handle of her bag go, thankfully falling away from her. Taking off her shoes, she turned her right ankle, to be viewed. It was split enough for a trail of blood to flow, and make walking more of a pain than before. Fantastic.
Peter’s smile was perhaps a bit too devious as he chuckled at Lydia’s use of experlatives. He had a feeling that Lydia wouldn’t find the natural world as hospitable as she’d have liked. She was familiar with some of the mild walking trails of Beacon Hills and had only ventured in farther when he’d been at the helm. Now she was getting a taste for what it was really like and he was enjoying listening to it all. Yes, he was aware that it was petty...but hey, she was the one who didn’t appreciate his cover story for their sleepwalking acquaintance with the the forest for her mother’s benefit.
Lydia deserved it after all. With the rain she could be the little brat most people seen her as most days. It was trivial crying but given the circumstances, she felt entitled to a little letting of her own rain. Rubbing her forever smudged made up eyes Lydia sobbed a little more just to get the anger out before limping her way in a dreadful direction.
Night settled over the cool rain like an icy blanket. Pissing Lydia off more. ”PETER!” Lydia shouted at the top of her somehow dry lungs. It was worth a shot, given she was desperate. With the obvious answer of silence, she sat down again.
Should he go...or not go? That was the question that Peter faced when he heard her screaming his name. On one hand letting her sit out in the rain would be bad for her health and who knew how much a banshee could take before they died of something silly like the common cold. On the other hand she was the one who really didn’t seem to know whether she wanted him to die or if she wanted him to solve all her problems for her. Even after he helped her get answers so they could figure out that it was vampires which had attacked Beacon Hills with avengence, once she was back with her friends (mainly Stiles and Scott) he was back to being the bad guy. And the bad guy would let her sit out in the rain and be miserable. Which would be the easiest thing for him to do really, and it wasn’t like he’d have gotten anything out of going to help her anyways.
Well, unless she did do that stupid thing and catch a cold and die. That would be bad. He rather liked living. Death was too finale. Or she could get eaten by one of the oh so vicious animals that came out at night. Although from what he’d caught in the wind earlier and had been hearing all day the most vicious thing out there was a rather pompous female fox. That animal in particular had screamed early on but thankfully she’d stopped a long time ago. He might have had to find a recipe for vixen if she hadn’t.
Tired and on the brink of possible pneumonia Lydia put herself against a stump, circling part of the rings as she sighed. ”Please, come get me.” Lydia shuddered, whether it was the cold or her crying who knew, but Lydia was asking nicely.
Well, he could make this work to his advantage. Getting a nice, somewhat docile banshee back when they’d get back to Beacon Hills could definitely be worth it. Especially since he was pretty much tied for life to this banshee in question. Oh the price that came with life.
Peter got up from his chair, setting the hot tea to the small coffee table in front of him. There wasn’t very much in this place but there was enough for it to be somewhat livable. At least for the length they would need to be there. If not then he was just going to have to do something else. But for now his place in the woods was the ideal place - away from people and...well, it was going to be away from her. But apparently that wasn’t exactly in his cards anymore.
Although he figured that the sooner he went to get her, the sooner she’d be able to leave him to his quiet once more. That’s how he justified it to himself. Not the fact that he didn’t like the idea of leaving poor defenseless little mostly humans out in the forest when they didn’t deserve it. He was still debating on the issue of her deserving to be left out to freeze over night, however. But again, he rather liked living. It beat the alternative. And he should know as he’d gotten a taste of them both.
So a moment later and a thick water repellent leather coat. He knew that it was one that Lydia might not like as he’d worn it’s twin when he’d bitten her. But given the fact that it was raining and he didn’t want to get sopping wet himself on a trek to retrieve her, she was just going to have to deal with it.
A few miles and he’d found the pathetic lump of a girl who might have been the Lydia Martin he knew if she wasn’t so desolate.
“You know,” Peter broke into the silence, stepping out from a particularly dark shadow and making a non committal hand gesture, ”you look like you could have used a compass. Or perhaps an umbrella?”
Looking up to Peter the female smiled, relieved to see the werewolf. Rightly embarrassed Lydia, had a practically pathetic pout to er bottom lip. ”Both, both would have been good.” She spoke, pushing herself up on her left side. ”Mind lending me a hand?”
”I don’t know, the last time I led you through a forest, unharmed might I add which is more than you can say right now, you seemed to get upset with me,” Peter said, resting his leather covered back against a tree, crossing his feet at the ankles and his hands over his chest lightly.
Sighing both in irritation and pain she looked at him. ”Peter please,” Lydia balanced herself the best she could, hating begging and all swallowed her pride. ”Peter, I need this.”
”See, I’d like to help you. But there’s this thing telling me helping self absorbed teenagers always ends badly. It sounds an awful lot like your friend, Stiles. Annoying voice, really but...” Peter shrugged, though he was pretty sure she missed the nuances of his movements in the dark.
Lydia was suddenly remembering why she hated this sod. But, feeling pitiful was worse than sucking up to Peter. She hoped. ”I’d beg if I could get on my knees, but thats out of the question right now.”
”Isn’t it funny how the one thing you hate...suddenly you want to jump to it in your time of need?” Peter goaded.
Oh, he’d eventually get her back to someplace safe. Obviously. But not before he drilled in his point. And maybe got a little revenge. His ears from her Nat’s assault still felt like they were ringing even if he knew that was just a part of his imagination.
’I didn’t ask for this you childish freakshow,’ Lydia thought to herself, she looked like a drenched kitten, what more could this man ask for? Actually, let’s not go there. ”Yes, it’s only human, and considering I have a predominantly human immune system and pain tolerance. I’ll rely on you right now.”
Peter moved in a little closer, tilting his head and letting the shadows play over his features in a purposeful way. Oh yes, drilling in his point all the way to China.
”And what makes you think I care?” He brought up in a quieted voice. ”Because last I checked wasn’t I just the bad guy? Or what was that word....? Your tormentor?”
”Look, I don’t have to be a genius to know you’re my best and safest chance right now.” She stood on her good leg maneuvering over to him. ”Plus, wouldn’t you be upset if some fox upstaged you? ow embarrassing for the both of us.”
Peter shrugged once more, looking down at her as she got closer. She really was a small thing once she took off her high heels. Especially considering the fact that she didn’t have that many layers of fabric on and her hair was matted down to her face by the rain.
”Who says there is anything to compete over?” He asked in a quiet, challenging murmur.
Lydia tilted her head towards and up to him. ”Me, afraid of a little fox over you, the fact I’m seeking you out must annoy you to some degree.” She assertively placed hersef at his side, gently holding onto his slick jacket. ”Just get me somewhere safe, so I can be back to worrying about you.” She answered, scooting closer with her good leg.
If Peter wasn’t one hundred percent a werewolf, the smirk on his face would have leant credence to the idea of him being a fox. ”Who says you should have ever stopped? Nice wet area...plenty of natural decomposing elements...great place to hide a body don’t you think?”
”And what would mother think?” Especially when all of her powers would seem whole again.
Peter made a noncommittal noise, lightly stepping back from her attempts to worm her way to his side. Which would have been a sharp reminder of how cold the night actually was and that he was just one big cuddleable heater (or fur blanket if you prefer) even if said heater came with built in claws and fangs.
”Not my problem, sweetheart.”
Lydia huffed, grabbing her luggage. She stood on both feet, shoes in hand. ”Do me one favor,”
”Favors usually imply a turn over. You’ve got nothing I want, Lydia.”
”Perhaps not now, but eventually, I’ll be of use right?” Her hair was a mess and honestly she would feel more confident without her wet clothes, and damnit Lydia was too spoiled for this.
”If you learn to survive long enough to get there,” Peter admitted with a light tip of his head.
Lydia closed her eyes for a moment sucked in a breath, calming herself just a tad. She survived just fine, her way of getting there was her issue. She wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing.
”What would you have done if there wasn’t anyone to come to your rescue this time, Lydia? Scott and Stiles won’t always be there. If you want to be of use you need to learn to survive,” Peter offered, rolling his head loosely to favor one shoulder before relaxing. ”Why else do you think your mother sent you here? To get rained on, put down roots, and maybe grow a little moss? Which, by the way, doesn’t exactly go with that neckline.”
Lydia didn’t really need all of this pestering, nor did she want to listen to it. She understood that she had pulled far away from her family's old ways but weren’t people supposed to adapt? Guess it’s not a banshee thing. ”I don’t know,” She said softly, ”But relying on people isn’t awful. You’re not going to shame me out of it.” Honestly fed up with him, Lydia began to bend to her ankles level, assessing the damage as Peter spoke.
”You’ll have to learn the hard way that not everyone is nearly as nice as I am then,” Peter tossed back. ”Trust me when I tell you that you haven’t begun to see what real monsters are.”
”You’re really like a dad, turing a question into a lesson.” Not like that was an answer but she was annoyed, talking towards the leg she was looking at. Like the brat she could be. Opening her pretty much soaked case, she pulled a very cute and sadly soon to be stained scarf out and wrapped it around her leg. Given she hadn’t prepared an actual medical kit for this trip. Figured she wouldn’t need it after all.
He rolled his eyes as he watched her attend to her physical wounds. Sometimes it was easy to forget how quickly she could hurt herself. Especially considering that every wound he ended up inflicting on her was gone within hours if not days. Funny how she hadn’t noticed that yet. But he supposed not getting eaten by some huntress or nurse with a vendetta topped concerns about pinpricks to the neck.
”You’ll need to get off the leg before you make it worse,” Peter said in a dull tone.
Really, this is why he liked being a werewolf. Human weaknesses...no thank you. He’d take a bad reaction to wolfsbane any day over the crap they had to put up with.
She eased into standing after shutting her luggage case, abandoned shoes tossed along in there. ”Come find me when it’s in your best interests okay?” A highly annoyed tone with a matching set face met Peters. She was pulling her stubborn card now, funny ow tis reminded her of something.
Peter rolled his eyes as he stepped in closer. He unbuttoned his jacket, though he was loathed to do that, as he moved in closer. Really, he should have known that this trip wasn’t going to be the drop off and pick up that Natalie had painted for him. Oh no. Her daughter had to go and make things difficult. Putting his life at risk with her foolish need to wonder through a forest, in an unknown land, during the rain...in four inch high heels.
”I’d appreciate it if you didn’t scream,” Peter said in a whisper as he bent his knees ever so slightly.
His arm went out to support her back as the other pretty much took her out from her knees. Sure he could have given her more warning but where would the fun have been in that? Besides this wasn’t exactly his ideal situation. She was wet, dirty, and ruining one of his shirts now. Not to mention the fact that he was going to have to meticulously wash and hand dry the inside of his favorite leather coat. Which, if she was smart, she’d have been able to weasle inside seeing as how he’d unbuttoned it. It might not have covered all of her but at least her legs, as they were on one side of his body, and her shoulders would have gotten warmed. His arms spanned the majority of the rest, more or less, once he slid his right one up from her knees to her upper thighs for better support.
As if Lydia could scream, she’d like to, but it was nearly impossible. Though, a timid noise did leave Lydia’s throat as the pressure was released off of her ankle. She was kind of an idiot, barging through the forest with her luggage, but she was also experienced enough to know, from her own stubborn father, Lydia would win in a battle of sheer tenacity. ”Thanks,”
Peter bent down once more next to her luggage. He was going to regret this too but it was better than coming back out for it.
”With your right hand, grab your purse and settle it on your arm, then put your arm around my neck. Pick your other bag up and balance it over you.”
Lydia nodded, following orders like a good kid, though she was still excited about her foot. She could probably cry if it wasn’t so terribly awkward at this rate. ”I’ll owe you one, okay?” She smiled lightly, getting her things together.
Peter said nothing and waited until she was settled in. Or as much as she could have been given the circumstances. His poor jacket was never going to be the same. He could practically feel the ooze of mud sliding down his neck from her purse too. Just the drops that had managed to slip past the collar seeing as he’d opened it up. Why had he done that again? He could have just carried her on the outside...and probably have had her frozen before they got back home. A frozen banshee wasn’t exactly a good asset.
”Don’t drop anything,” Peter said to avoid the cliche of ‘hold on tight’.
And with that he started out at a walk. Lydia’s body was significantly smaller than Peter’s, and it kind of made a picture in her head of a baby monkey (her) and momma monkey ( Peter). With the cold, irritation and Peter’s movements she kind of had to choke down laughter. There was no laughing with Peter. Admittedly, she was warm, and comfortable even if she knew Peter could change his interests at any time. This time he seemed like if she held on, he’d keep her up.
Unfortunately for Lydia, Peter’s pace picked up in a jog. The bouncing would not have been comfortable but it would get them back to his freshly cleaned place sooner. And with that in mind. he really decided to make her suffer for the nasty feeling sliding down his back because of all her wetness. Which translated at a run with the obviously needed jumping to navigate the terrain. Her luggage was going to be her own special form of punishment this time around.
The cabin never really ‘came into view’ as it blended in with the rest of the environment. On one side the moss and ivy had crawled all around it, seeming to form a protective green layer. On the other natural stones which made up the whole of the small living space could be seen. There weren’t very many windows, only two in fact, and only one rather meager sized door to help distinguish it as a home. Once inside, however, it became much more inviting. Though it was small, the cabin had all the basic necessities. The fireplace which took up a whole wall was to their right, raised off of the ground with the same natural stones that made up the exterior walls. In front of it was two moderately comfortable chairs and a small coffee table placed tween them. The kitchen was on the back wall to the left, barely a strip. It was connected to the hallway for the bathroom door as well as the closet in the back. The loft, which Peter had only gotten around to cleaning before he went to fetch Lydia, was placed above the bathroom, kitchen, and tiny walkway between said two ‘rooms’. The latter to get up to it held firmly to the wall by two shining silver brackets mid way. To the side of that was a small round table with two chairs stacked atop one another to make sure that the latter wasn’t blocked just yet.
Peter sat Lydia down on the ground. He didn’t wait for her to let go of the baggage or anything and instead chose to place her down like one would a piece of furniture carrying more items atop it.
Lydia followed suit, though she knew Peter just carried her through the forest, she was absolutely exhausted. She pooled into the ground with her things, very sad to leave a warm coat and werewolf. She didn’t even come to the conclusion that she was in a new place at first. It was dry around her and that was a plus. Given that she was soaked, the female pushed herself upwards.
”I need to get dry clothes..” It seemed like a pain, but she didn’t want to die with blue lips. Digging through her things Lydia sighed, annoyed to no end. ”I realise you just ran me back here, but my clothes are thoroughly soaked.. ” Which was pretty depressing.
Staring at her as though that should have been obvious didn’t seem to have half the amount of ‘duh’ added to it. Regardlessly, he walked through the kitchen area and let his leather coat fall to the ground. He’d deal with that later. He’d also have to re-mop the entire area. It was all going to be covered in mud and dirt now, no doubt.
As he moved to the very thin back room, which was pretty much just a closet, Peter pulled off his own wet shirt and pulled out two dry ones. Taking a half step back, he balled up the largest knit sweater he had ever bothered to owned and tossed it over to Lydia without pausing.
Things were sticking to Lydia that she didn’t know could do such a thing, and it was almost painful to move her arms up to catch the bundled up knit. One of the sleeves conveniently smacking her in the face. Somehow she didn’t mind too much. As Peter left the room she took it as her time to undress.
Peter to step into the bathroom as he pulled on his own dry shirt once more and got to work on removing the through shoes and pants. Water tended to get everywhere fabric could soak it up. And it had long since climbed up his legs. Thankfully that feeling of things sliding down his back hadn’t been real - that was why the leather jacket was his favorite, hands down.
Pulling her top off was like torture, it had become rough with the rain and cold, bearing her cheeks no kindness. Her bra, gone. Pants? Finito. All Lydia had was that sweater and a change of slightly dryer underwear from her luggage. Though, his (V-neck, obviously) sweater was long enough to reach her thighs, nothing indecent. Once sifted into that, Lydia had enough time to pick up a little bit of her mess. And find a hair tie in her jumble of wet clothing. Up and out of the way.
Once Peter finished getting redressed, which included tossing his wet clothes into the freshly cleaned shower, he moved back out to see Lydia. His poor forgotten tea, now ice cold, sat in the middle of the extremely small sitting area. Darn; that was his favorite flavor.
”Anything else I can get you, oh mighty princess?”
Lydia shook her head softly, ”Thank you though, knight in shining armor.” Which was funny, sarcastic, but true. He saved her butt, even if it took a little push.
”Use the jacket,” Peter said in a somewhat tired voice, indicating with his head to the article of clothing he’d dropped. ”You’re on your own for a pillow though.”
With all the cleaning and saving Lydia from herself, there hadn’t been time to cut any wood. Nor any time to go to any store to pick up bedding supplies. The stuff that had been there before was gone. Most likely stolen by teenagers wandering out into the woods. He’d already scrubbed the nasty remains of their visits away, right up to the point of needing to re polish the wood actually. So while the place was mostly clean but it pretty much had nothing in it.
Glancing at the jacket she looked between it and then Peter, she wasn’t going to say no, it’s just, she felt off. It was like a p***k at her skin, mostly the thought that she was becoming used to that thing. As well as Peter. ”Goodnight.” It wasn’t harsh, it was just the light scratch in her voice.
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Vicious Madam Mari Captain
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Vicious Madam Mari Captain
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Posted: Thu Feb 19, 2015 10:36 pm
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Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2015 5:09 pm
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Vicious Madam Mari Captain
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Vicious Madam Mari Captain
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Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2015 5:10 pm
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Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2015 5:11 pm
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Vicious Madam Mari Captain
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Vicious Madam Mari Captain
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Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2015 5:13 pm
April 26th, 2013
She sat outside the cabin in the early morning light, a steaming pot of tea on the table next to her and a mug in her hands. The stone bench under her is still a little cool—the chill easily sinking in through the thin cotton shirt she’d stolen from Peter—but she can deal with it. Taking a sip from her mug she savors the strong taste of the Assam tea she’d found in the kitchen. It’s better than thinking about yesterday.
Of course now that she’s thought that it all comes back to her, the newspaper clippings, the family tree, MacBrady. They apparently even had a castle if the photocopy of the deed was to be believed; the same one she’d been in the other day if her research was right. She shivered at the memory of that place, quickly taking a sip of her tea to banish the chill.
Peter rolled his eyes from his spot inside of the cabin, sitting by the inactive fireplace. There was a book in his hand but he had yet to make any progress on it because of one person in particular. Lydia kept making the most random noises - or at least that's what he told himself when he got distracted. Her silence was deafening and it was getting on his last nerves. Besides that he could hear her stomach growling even if she couldn't. So in order to stop that annoyance, Peter put his book down and walked over to the kitchen. He opened the fridge up and found one of the fresh bakery bagels he'd gotten from the store and some cream cheese. Quickly he put that together on a napkin and walked outside, laying it down before her.
"How do you not get annoyed by the sound of your own stomach?" Peter questioned up.
Lydia looked up at Peter’s voice, but considering she was still angry with him she didn’t respond, she did however deign to take the bagel and cream cheese from him. Setting her mug down she tore into half the bagel, wishing there was jam or something on the bagel too; not that she’d tell him that.
Peter paused as he watched her rip into the bagel, his head titled to the side ever so slightly. If she hadn't been a banshee and thus immune to his bite....she'd have been able to do some damage with a real set of teeth. Or rather, fangs. And he knew the kind of damage she could do with her blunt human nails too. Which had been only slightly disturbing, really.
"Still playing the silent, wounded hero, Lydia?" Peter asked as he straightened the angle to his head.
A derisive snort escaped her at the question ‘wounded hero; please. For a second she thought about not replying again, but then decided he deserved to get reamed a little. “You’re the one who held back information that could’ve made this trip a whole lot easier, for the both of us even.” But no, Peter didn’t do anything for free after all.
"You never asked," Peter remarked casually as he took a seat at the opposite end of the curved, stone bench. "Besides that - what bothers you more: that I didn't tell you or that your mother didn't tell you and gave it to me instead?"
If he was going to be the bad guy, sure he could play that role. But he'd rather be the bad guy for things he'd legitimately done. Everyone else had to cope with their own sins and inadequacies.
She bared her teeth at him in a silent snarl, then took an angry sip of her tea. Could he not be such a smug a*****e when he was right? Was that too much to ask?
The answer, of course, though was her mother not telling her. Her mom knew she was doing this, why hadn’t she given her the folder before she’d left? Why Peter? Why make Lydia’s time here harder than it needed to be? What was supposed to be a simple research trip had been harder than it had any right to be because she hadn’t known about half the things in that folder. “Anything else you’re not telling me?” She might as well get it over with really.
"Oh, I don't know. Why don't we start trading stories?" Peter said in a snarky tone. "I'm sure there are things you're not telling me. And remember - I've met some good liars and you're not one of them."
Instead of answering she tore off another chunk of bagel and popped it in her mouth, chewing as slowly as she could, just to annoy him.
Peter smiled condescendingly and laughed under his breath. Even with sound of her angry chewing this was better than the tense, nerve wracking silence of her tapping her pen and letting out the aggravated sounds that most people would find inaudible.
“Oh yes, visions are totally comparable to a vital packet of documents.” She’d prefer to eat her favorite shoes before she told him about the dreams.
"Visions?" Peter sat up straighter, staring directly at her. Well now she had all his attention even if he tried not to show that on his face.
To tell or not to tell. Not that there was much in the way to tell. “Voices warning me about danger, sometimes I see a shadow out of the corner of my eye.” She gives him a level stare over the rim of her mug. ”But see, those are what we call minor things, which are completely okay not to share, because they don’t effect everything that’s going on” She took a sip from her tea, and grimaced slightly at the cool, bitter taste; reaching for the pot she poured more in, warming up what was still in the mug.
"So someone trying to burn you alive is what you call minor now?" Peter remarked dryly. "You realize that you're a banshee, correct? The supernatural entity who is practically married to death and the vibrations of the universe?"
She rolled her eyes in the most exaggerated manner she could. “Yes, I’ll remember to call you before the next time someone tries to set fire to me while I’m asleep.” She resisted the urge to toss her tea in his face, this was good tea and it’d be a shame to waste it on something so petty.
His expression was clearly sardonic in nature as he stared at her. Peter rolled his eyes, the eyelids closing as he did so as he took in a deep breath. This girl in front of him, well to his side really, was going to be the death of him. Literally one of these days. She put herself in far too much trouble for his liking. She and her oh so coherent "pack" always had.
She b***h-faced right back at him, at the moment not really willing to deal with any more of his s**t than she absolutely had to.
"At least you've admitted that someone was trying to kill you. Now we can move on and find out who it was so we don't chance a repeat," for obvious reasons, Peter wasn't exactly fond of the idea of someone trying to burn him alive without at least introducing themselves first.
Lydia rolled her eyes. “Yes, Peter,” sarcasm dripped from her voice. “I’d much prefer it if they stopped too.” She’s fairly certain no one liked people trying to kill them.
"Did you get any indication or sense of who, in particular, was targeting you sweetheart?" Peter asked, using the nickname for her in a mocking tone.
“Sure dumpling,” she sneered. “Let me just whip out my werewolf senses and try and use them at a time when I’m freaking the ******** out because, hello, being burned alive. Of course, I didn’t get anything about who might want to kill me.”
Well she hadn't quite gotten to the part about channeling from him, so that answered that question of his. Which meant that she hadn't realized the very important bonded issue of his life was quite literally hers. Good. That would have given her far too much power over him. Besides, she had her own senses to rely on. Now those he could help her focus on without any negative consequences to him. Just as he had done back when they were still figuring out that it was vampires attacking the town.
"Did you forget about our moment in the woods already angel?" Peter sassed back. "You can sense what happened around you when you pay attention. You've got that extra something inside of you. Use it. Take control. Embrace it, lydia, and you'll be better than every other human around you."
“Well, snookums.” She wasn’t going to admit it, but she was having fun. “If I had known that before you told me just now, then yes I would totally have used it.” She took another sip of tea, letting the taste calm her. “Now shut up and let me focus.”
Peter made a motion with his hand out into nowhere, indicating that she could 'be his guest'. Or maybe it was an invitation for her to do something impressive. Either way the proverbial floor was hers.
Setting her mug down, Lydia closed her eyes and turned inward. Focusing on her breathing until the world around her started to fade around her.
The softness of the bed is welcoming after such a long day. And Lydia both goes to sleep and wakes up at the same time. Opening her eyes she sits up and looks around her room. It looks like it should, nothing out of the ordinary about it.
She climbs out of bed and decides she’d rather not turn around and see if she’s still actually lying on the bed or not. Heading to the door she opens it and looks around, everything’s slightly hazy and she has to wonder if that’s because of the strength, or lack thereof, of the memory; or if it’s because she’s going beyond what her physical body experienced at the time.
Her hands twitched. Peter's eyes watched her intently. Last time she did this, Lydia had started bleeding out of her nose. Now that could have been from the vampires interfering and putting pressure on her mind or it could have been because this was too advanced for her. He wanted to go with the former because in all honesty, Lydia radiated more power than her mother Natalie ever had and she was doing it at a much younger age on top of that.
She heads down the hall and then the stairs, pausing every once in a while to get a sense of where she is, so far it’s feeling pretty normal. At least until she reaches the lobby, dark intent thrums in the air. Well, well. Following the line of intent Lydia headed into the kitchen.
Despite never having been back here it’s still well defined, modern and shiny steel gleaming in the dim light of the open wood oven.
Her breathing became slightly erratic, slowing, then stopping for a moment, before picking up.
There’s someone backlit by the fire growing in the oven, they’re feeding it well beyond capacity, and Lydia shiver as she realizes she’s watching the start of the fire that nearly killed her, still she forces herself closer, needing to see who tried to kill her.
The face doesn’t come into focus until she’s right next to the woman, that she was at least able to tell sooner. She recoils when she notices it’s Ms. Casey, the lady who ran the B&B. Shock floods her and…
Lydia gasps as she returns to herself, heart pounding in her chest. Peter had a grip around her shoulders, as though he were trying to hold her into one place. Which had been the case, really, seeing as her body started to shake.
"Lydia? Lydia. What did you see?" Peter brought up in a probing voice.
She shook her head to reorient herself in reality, she shivers and snatches up her mug, taking a sip, the heat and taste calming her. "I saw who started the fire."
"Who was it?" Peter asked, eyes narrowing.
He was going to go have to have a talk with whoever had started that fire with the intent to remove her as a threat. Peter might not have been the person who always rushed into a fight but he had passionately safeguarded his life the second time around. Lydia happened to be a large part of safeguarding his life.
"Lydia, who was it?"
She took another sip of her tea, the idea of it still not sitting right with her. "Ms. Casey, she was the landlady of the B&B. But, why?"
"Hunters are good for one thing," Peter said quietly. "And when they're turned on you that's not something you should be happy about."
"We don’t even know if she was a hunter," Lydia shot back.
"Anyone who hunt us is a hunter, sweetheart," Peter said as he started to stand up.
Sighing softly into her mug, Lydia took another sip. True, but there were hunters and then there were hunters. "That’s a depressing way to view the world." He’ll probably call it naive but it’s also true.
Peter shrugged. And just like that he was grabbing his coat from the inside of the cottage and starting down the dirt road. As he walked he kept his hands busy by flicking out his claws one by one and cleaning them. He was about to make such a mess. After he found somewhere to put the body. Maybe he could find a nice fireplace and call it poetic justice.
Lydia didn’t bother dealing with her tea, just hurrying after him; finding herself aware of the fact that all she was wearing was one of his shirts. "Where do you think you’re going?"
"To do exactly what I told Natalie I would do," Peter said vaguely. "I keep my promises."
"And what promise was this? Are you seriously keeping more from me?" Anger filled her voice. "You’re not leaving until you tell me everything." In a way it almost feels like the Kanima all over again, no one telling her anything. And just like then she hates it.
"Is that a challenge,Lydia?" Peter asked, only turning the gaze of his eyes down at her. "Because from where I stand you're not in the position to try and stop me."
Crossing her arms she glared up at him, baring her teeth. "Yes," she says sweetly. "I am. And you seem to be forgetting my scream can do quite a bit to you."
Peter's glance turned more into a side glare. Oh was that how she wanted to play this game? Moving swiftly, his hand was around her neck and he had push her back into a moss covered tree.
Despite her best efforts not to, Lydia felt a flash of fear as her back hit the tree.
"And you forget that I don't take well to being threatened," Peter said, his face close to hers with a dark look in his eyes.
He knew better than to do anything a bit more showy like start the shift. She'd see something he'd rather keep to himself. Otherwise his upper hand would be lost and who knew what would get back to McCall and his friends. Peter adjusted his hand to tighten up on her throat but being careful to not cut off her oxygen supply or leave bruises. He also made sure to keep both of her feet on the ground. No use damaging her when the scare tactic worked. He squeezed quickly but then let her go. However, he didn't back up in the least.
She wished Peter would back away, she didn’t like how much this reminded her how little she was wearing. But then again she also liked it, stupid sex hormones.
"But just for the record, Lydia, the promise is the same one I told you at the start of this. To keep you alive and mostly safe on this trip," He smiled wickedly, not that Lydia would be able to see much of it as they were so close. "But go ahead, fight me little girl. I can promise you that you'll only get one shot and I'm really hard to put down."
She tilted her chin up to meet his eyes, unwilling to let herself be cowed by his ‘bad guy’ act. "I would think Peter, that I would be far safer if you stayed with me, instead of haring off to kill everyone who tried to kill me. Ms. Casey probably thinks I’m dead, no reason to correct her on that assumption." She put her hand on his chest and pushed her way free. "All I need is one shot Peter, and you know it’s hard for me to miss."
"You've never tried to take a shot at me," Peter said in a soft voice though the tone of it had deepened with a dangerous promise.
"Doesn’t mean I still won’t hit." She snapped back.
He moved away from her slowly, letting her choose for herself rather or not she moved away from the tree. And as soon as he turned around he was still walking down that damn path with his single track mind.
She bared her teeth and growled at his back. "Peter Mathew Hale! Get your a** back here right now!" If he wasn’t going to see sense, than she’d make him. "And what should I do if someone attacks me while you’re gone?" She arched her eyebrow. If he was supposed to protect her then he shouldn’t be leaving. Seriously.
"Scream," Peter called back sarcastically.
Well if that’s what he wanted... She rolled her shoulders back, straightened her spine. And Screamed. Down the dirt pathway, Peter's hands went to his very sensative ears and he nearly tripped into a tree. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, coming up through the throat with a vicious snarl. He turned back around with his lip curled and his eyes flashing like a police car - unable to settle on either blue or red.
Shock filtered through her at the sight of his strobing eyes, but at the moment she couldn’t let herself focus on that. What she needed to focus on was keeping him here, instead of off somewhere killing someone. Crossing her eyes she met those eyes of his, undaunted. "You’re staying." She’d scream again if she had to.
His lip curled up in another snarl, this one silent. He was going to need to rethink this whole letting her know what he was doing business if she meant to use it as a way to control him. He would not be controled. He was a werewolf, not her damned dog Prada.
"How long do you think that voice of yours will last, Lydia?" He asked her in a dark voice, moving back to her location slowly as though stalking the latest prey. Which, really, he kind of was. "What will you do when you can't scream anymore?"
"It will last as long as I need it to," she shot back, refusing to acknowledge the quiver inside of her. Peter might be the big bad wolf but she was the herald of death and she wasn’t going to let him push her around.
"And I’ll stop when you see some ******** sense for a change." Seriously, she felt like she was dealing with someone her own age instead of an ‘adult’. She never pegged Peter for still being stupidly impulsive.
She doesn’t answer his last question though because his implication is right, take away her scream and she’s powerless.
"Sense? You want to talk about being sensible?" Peter asked as he drew in close to emphasis the height difference but far enough away that she could still tilt her head back to stare up if she wanted to keep meeting his eyes. "What's sensible about letting someone go unpunished when they tried to kill you?"
"I don’t give a flying ******** what happens to her, but according to your own words Peter you’re supposed to be protecting which is a shitton easier when you’re close to me." She stepped closer, invading his personal space for a change, even if it meant she had to crane her neck.
"I would think the choice would be an obvious one Peter. You keep saying you’re intelligent, so act like it for a ******** change."
"I never said I was protecting you," Peter said with a tilt of his head. "I said I would keep you alive and safe. There is a difference."
She narrowed her eyes. "Really? You’re going to argue semantics with me?"
Peter's dark expression went devious. "Just making sure that we're clear. I will keep you safe and alive because that is what I promised. I never promised to protect you. I never promised to answer to you. I am not a dog."
"No," she drawled. "Keeping me safe and alive means protecting me." Why is that so hard to understand?
"No. Protecting you means caring about how you feel,"Peter informed her as he stared down at her. She was so tiny."And last I checked that wasn't what you wanted sweetheart."
Christ, why did he always have to loom? "I’m fairly certain feelings don’t come into the definition of ‘protect’ in any way."
"Fine," Peter said calmly. "I hope you're comfortable being tied up."
"Oh yes," sarcasm dripped from her every word. "Stuck to a chair makes me so very safe, Peter." How the ******** did his brain work?
"Who said anything about a chair?" Peter asked with a certain tilt to his voice.
She arched an eyebrow and gave him her b***h-face again. "I don’t let men tie me up in bed until after the first date. Try again."
"Where's the flower, Lydia?" The almost-alpha asked with a smirk.
Her eyes darted away for a second, but quickly returned to Peter’s, she didn’t want him to know that his words affected her. And the press was soft. Lingering and sweet. She did her best to suppress the shiver the dream-memory brought with it; but had no idea how well it actually worked. "We both know there never was a flower Peter."
"Just because you can't always see things, doesn't mean they lose meaning."
Peter's claws finger went under her chin, bringing her eyes back up to his as he took a half step back. This whole situation was a complicated mess but now he felt better. He had the upper hand to make up for the fact that she had so easily brought him down with a single scream. One he couldn't really retaliate against without his own consequences.
The claws made her head jerk, and she could feel them dig into her chin harder than he probably meant. Though if she was bleeding she couldn’t tell, though she’d certainly felt a sting. She blinked though noticing blood bloom on his chin.
"Like I said - Safe and alive but not protected. Makes things easier that way, wouldn't you agree?" Peter questioned as he let his finger drop from under her chin, back so both of his hands were resting at his side.
She was starting to get so very ******** frustrated in how they were just arguing in circles. So change the subject. "You’re bleeding."
Peter stepped back another step and raised his eyebrow, letting the blood drip down his throat as the wound healed up. There was no point in cleaning it up to draw attention to the fact that she was too. Again, he was not having her know just how much power she had over him.
Feeling something warm slide down her throat she reached up and her hand came away with blood. But she didn’t feel any wound. What the ********> She was half tempted to storm back to the cabin, but was fairly certain that he wouldn’t follow her if she did.
"I'm a werewolf, Lydia, or did you forget?"
"That totally explains you suddenly starting to bleed when you accidently hurt me."
"Who said anything about it being an accident?" Although it totally was.
Lydia waved her blood smeared hand, "does it really matter or not if it’s an accident? You nicked me and you bled, that’s not exactly normal Peter." Right now she thinks she might kill for a straightforward answer.
There was no denying lydia's intelligence. And at one time before this trip he had wished she'd use it to put together clues the way Stilinski did as well. Now, however, he could only wish that she didn't quite pick up that trait. Because the more she connected the worse it would be for his sense of freedom. So instead of answering her, Peter remained silent but his eyes probably belayed that he had been trying to think of a way to explain it to her without actually giving anything away. Peter wasn't the best liar either. Sure he was good at spinning the truth to suit his needs but growing up in a werewolf family didn't exactly encourage the straight out lying that happened in human households.
"Well?" She crossed her arms, smearing blood onto her skin and his shirt, and arched an eyebrow.
Nope, nope. Not answering that one. Peter's eyes darted back and forth over her face. How to shut her up without actually hurting her? Because if he hurt her, he quite literally hurt himself.
Leaning down, Peter invaded whatever personally space was left. Lydia felt her eyes widen, breath picking up in anticipation.And in that moment where the cliche kiss would happen, his hand went up to the back of her head and stabbed his claws into her spinal column. Blood dripped from the back of his own neck, of course, as it always did but he used the power of this technique to knock her out.
Air left her lungs in a gasping rush and the world went black. He withdrew his claws, catching her with his other arm, and walked back to the cabin. He had some blood to clean off the both of them before she woke up and found it. Otherwise that was going to lead to a lot more questions.
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Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2015 5:14 pm
April 27th, 2013
Midnight was quicker to approach than anyone would have given it credit. Peter was actually surprised that lydia had stayed unconscious for the whole time. Maybe she had been more exhausted than she let on. Traveling countries on someone else's whims and nearly getting killed does have a way of depleting mental resources.
Still, it was curious that she stayed passed out considering the fact that she wasn't on the bed. He'd graciously let her have one of the pillows and a throw blanket but she was still on the hard floor.The chill would seep into her bones if she didn't wake up soon. Considering that Peter had taken a wonderful nap when he was sure she was in the deepest of her mind, he almost felt like going down to help her. But last time he'd played the gentleman she'd snapped at him so the move would be pointless.
Lydia awoke, cold and sore, blearily wondering where she was. Groaning softly she sat up, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off what little chill she could. Why did it have to get so ******** cold in Ireland? She wondered bitterly as she stood. Her thoughts turning as to why she’d fallen asleep on the floor instead of the bed, or at least the chair.
Thinking back the last thing she recalled was arguing with Peter about him leaving her. After that is a big blank. She makes an angry face at that and doing her best to hold back another shiver she looks around for some way to keep warm.
There was the fireplace of course, but was she that angry at Peter?
She didn’t think she was, so…
Walking over to the stairs Lydia unwillingly unwrapped her arms and climbed.
And there was Peter, sprawled over the whole bed like the a*****e he was.
Biting back an annoyed sigh she didn’t even think about it as she climbed into the bed, shoving Peter’s arm and leg aside so she had some actual space to herself.
Once she was under the blankets she felt warmer, but still chilly. Great, she groaned; scooting as close to Peter as she dared.
Warmer, but still not good enough.
Blushing furiously, and oh so grateful he seemed fast asleep—and even if he wasn’t it wasn’t as if he could tell, Lydia pressed herself against his side.
Closing her eyes she willed herself to go to sleep as fast as possible.
And the universe must have answered her call, because she soon found herself slipping into darkness.
Lydia kneels on the worn wood floor, not caring about splinters, or dust, or dirt. Only the body climbing his way out of the hole.
She thinks she should be afraid, but she’s not. All she feels is anticipation, and satisfaction at a job well done. The whole world seems to shake as he, as Peter, climbs out; and she’s shaking with it.
He’s covered in dust, and ash, and pollen, and is glorious.
Trembling she stares up at him, at the smirk playing across his lips. He kneels in front of her, eyes gleaming brighter. "I heard there was a party." he leans in until they’re almost kissing. "Don’t worry," his breath ghosts across her mouth, teasing her. "I invited myself."
And he kisses her.
A moan escapes her, and she leans into it, kissing him back eagerly.
A sound of triumph rumbles in his chest and he pushes forward, moving her back and down towards the floor. Her hands come up and wrap around his shoulders, uncaring of how dirty she gets.
He presses down on her, and he deepens the kiss his tongue curling around hers as she feels a hand start creeping up her thigh, inching up the skirt of her dress. She breaks away from the kiss, not able to stand it anymore."Peter..."
"Shhh," he soothes, his lips sliding down her neck. "It’s alright, I know."
She’s burning up, she wants, she needs... "Peter!"
Peter looked over at the girl with a somewhat dry expression. He knew exactly what was going on in that head of hers. Not from being in there, not this time. It was more along the lines of her scent. It shifted and burned, turning over and over on itself until there was an undeniable truth that her scent had been filled with sexual desire. Oh, not to mention the fact that her body wasn't as still as it could have been even though she was supposed to be experiencing sleep paralysis. And then there could have been the sounds slipping out of her throat. Sounds that would have probably embarrassed her if she knew he could hear. Ones that, undoubtedly, were parts of his name.
Now, you might think he would hold this over her when she was awake. And really, he might have if it weren't for one thing - Lydia was being hunted. He could see the shimmering energy, dark and like smoke, hovering just over her body pretty much the same way that Derek or Scott could see the fox aura around Kira (though, of course, Scott was slow on the uptake with that). An Incubus had latched on to the young banshee and was using his image to suck her dry. Oh no. He was not okay with that. Especially since he'd been the one to put her in such a vulnerable state to begin with this time with his claws.
"Lydia," Peter probed with his voice.
"Lydia," Peter murmurs against the side of her breast, nosing ever so closer to where she wants him.
Well that had failed spectacularly. He could see her body rising up with the essense, her hips leaving the ground. Peter growled low in his throat before realizing the sound of the growls weren't helping the situation either. Damn her did she have to like that sound that much? Now years ago he'd done that for a bit of fun but this was a completely different situation with a completely different girl for a completely different reason.
Peter's hand went to push her abdomen back down to the bed as he tried to figure out how to dislodge the soul sucker from Lydia. Her skin was hot to the touch, warmer than it had any right to be. The incubus was doing a number to her and she really didn't have that long at this rate.
Peter’s hands pin her down, she struggles against them, but it only serves to arouse the both of them. She throws her head back and whines.
Peter's lip raise up in a quiet snarl. Trying to physically wake her up was not working. Peter moved her body to sit up, feeling everything through her skin. Thankfully he wasn't a teenage boy who didn't know in from out, otherwise taking advantage of her would be far too easy. He did have some morals after all. Unfortunately for all the people before, death seemed to be the least villainous option in his head.
Once she was positioned over his lap so he could hold her head without worry that she was going to crack her own neck trying to move, Peter's hands went to her head. He could feel the chill starting to move down from her brain even though the rest of her body was practically on fire.
"Lydia!" the voice he used rimmed with power as his eyes once again became supernatural strobe lights.
He tried as best he could from having the voice echo through the woods because that would only draw attention, but he couldn't stop the force of it echoing through the small cabin they shared.
"Lydia!" Lydia starts, but Peter rumble-growls against her belly, sending delicious shivers through her.
"Focus on me Lydia," it comes out a demanding snarl and she hates and love how it makes her melt into him.
Her neck was getting cold, like ice under his fingertips, but he could still feel the pooling heat from below. The shadow slowly slid down her body, inch by inch. The moment it was down where the desire pooled, the game was over.
Why wasn't she a werewolf?! This would have been a lot easier if she had that bond. Calling her out of the mist, out of the cloud of desire, would have been a lot easi—
Peter's eyes snapped open as he stared at her. Oh she was going to hate him. But what other choice was available other than watching her die? Which, in turn would kill him. Again, not something he was okay with.
His head tilted back as the fangs slid out. He could feel the double rows fitting as naturally into his mouth as the others. The cranial ridges protruded over the normal bone, forming what a lot of people would have thought as a demonic face. Power surging between the eyes slipping in and out of red and ice blue. He leaned down and pulled her lip between his teeth, pricking the surface and letting everything go between the two of them like the flow that went between an alpha and the human they meant to turn.
Pain teases her lips and blood fills her mouth at the same moment Peter’s fangs scrape across her bare belly, his fingers digging into her scars. Power, cool and potent fills her.
Peter hoped that he had gained enough strength back to relink the bond as he felt the blood wash between both of their mouths. He pulled his fangs back out and kept his mouth on hers. He did not need her spitting out the werewolf essence before the bond might have been able to solidify.
It was a gamble, sure, but it was the only one he had available to him.
Lips, too hot to be anything but a werewolf’s settle across hers, soothing the pain and lapping up the blood. But if Peter was at her hip then who was kissing her?
"What?" She looks down to see Peter staring back up at her, eyes flaring completely black, red veins radiating from them and pulsing.
She recoils. "What the ********> She scrambles to get away, but not-Peter snags her ankle before she escapes completely.
"Lydia..." For a moment it’s completely Peter again, but then the black starts creeping back in. "Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?"
It hits her like a gut punch that thought, because the answer’s both a resounding yes, and and a vehement no!.
With her other foot she kicks out, clocking not-Peter in the head and loosening his grip. Not caring that she’s naked she runs out of the Hale ruins and into the woods, following that trace of hot-werewolf and cold-power.
Lydia gasps into the press of Peter’s mouth, eagerly reciprocating. Once she did, Peter could feel the difference. It was like flicking a switch. And it was so familiar. This wasn't the first time they had kissed, not really. But it was the first time in the physical world with physical bodies. And Peter really liked physical things. He pushed just as much as she did, holding her still against his hips because the girl was still riled up. If he wasn't careful he'd get just as riled, just as bothered, as Lydia. Then where would they be?
This is what she wants. Heat and pressure and the slight scrape of stubble. She sighs into his mouth and grabs his shirt.
...okay, nope, he found his limit when Lydia's hands started to be anything but idle. His shirt had ended up around his waist. she must have ripped the shoulder seams and pushed it down at some point. That or he did. knowing who's fault it was might have been beyond his thinking capacity at the moment. Unthinkingly, Peter licked the inside of her lip. It was almost an apology as he pulled back. His features were, of course, humanoid again.
A pouting whimper escaped Lydia as Peter pulled away. And for the briefest of seconds she tried to chase after him to attempt to kiss him again. Her sex hormones ramped up to the max and demanding satisfaction of some sort.
"Lydia," Peter said, trying his absolute best not to sound like the kiss had affected him. "Lydia."
His neutral tone is about a million times more effective than a bucket of ice water. She jerks away from him scrambling to the ‘head’ of the bed, pressing her back against the cold wall. Wrapping her arms around her chest she pulls her legs up, shivering and blinking back tears.
What was she thinking?! "Peter?" Hating how vulnerable and soft she sounds.
"You should try getting some more sleep. I hear an incubus attack is draining."
She thunked her head against the wall, sleep was the last thing she wanted right now. Her body is still demanding a release of some sort, no matter that Peter’s staring at her intently, false-concern clear on his face.
With an angry shriek she picks up the nearest pillow and tosses it at him. Scrambling out of the bed she nearly flew down the ladder and out the door. If an orgasm wasn’t in the cards then she’d damn well run the heat out of herself.
Peter picked up some of the notes he'd been going over while Lydia had been out, thumbing through them. An ironic thought fluttered through his head - and here he thought he'd escaped heat week when he left Beacon Hills.
______________________________
By the time that Lydia had come back from her midnight-esque jog through the woods, Peter had caught another nap as well as gotten up to start on breakfast. For himself at least; he doubted the banshee's constitution would be able to stomach the amount of pure meat he'd loaded a plate with. Though there were some fried potatoes innocently left on the stove if she got adventurous enough. Or had any sort of sense of smell because everything smelt delicious.
Lydia returned to the cabin feeling cold and just generally annoyed at the world. The burning need for release was gone, but that hardly made her feel any better. Inside the house was warm enough to remind her how cold she was and bypassing the food in the kitchen, she’d eat just not at the moment, she threw open the closet and yanked out the first shirt she came across. Storming into the bathroom she closed and locked the door before yanking off yesterday’s shirt and turning the shower as hot as it could go.
After what she was certain was the fastest shower she’d ever taken Lydia roughly dried herself off and yanked on the shirt. Balling the old one up in the towel she’d used she dumped it in the pile of all the other dirty clothes that’d accumulated.
Returning to the kitchen she got out a bowl and piled it high with the potatoes. She takes the seat across from him—like there’s another seat she can take. And starts eating, wishing she had more than just potatoes though. But at the moment that wasn’t exactly her biggest problem. "I need clothes." What she wouldn’t do for a bra at the moment.
"So why haven't you gotten some?" Peter brought up in a mildly dry tone.
She glowers at him as she chews, wishing she could just reach over and rip his voice box out for a few hours, maybe just break his nose. "Well Peter," she began sweetly, batting her eyelashes in an exaggerated manner. "I seem to have no money at the moment, nor any sort of transportation to a store." Peter knows it too, clearly he’s trying to get his daily dose of a*****e in early.
"You're a smart girl, Lydia, I half expected you to have already figured out a way," Peter said in a mocking manner.
His quivering voice box in her hand. "Well clearly I’ve been distracted by other things," her family history, an incubus—she shudders.
Peter 'hmmed' as he finished off the plate, taking the greasy dish to the sink to wash it. A few days ago he'd tried to stop the domestics but at this point he just didn't have the energy for it. It wasn't like Lydia had anywhere else safe to go. In Ireland she didn't have McCall and all his friends gathering around her like friendly meat shields.
"I'm sure you'll find small town fashion to your liking," Peter quipped as he put the white dish back into its place.
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Right now Peter I couldn’t care less about ‘fashion’, I just want clothes that are actually my size and look decent." She has to draw the line somewhere.
"That'll be a little hard without money, won't it?" Peter questioned with a smirk.
Her fork scrapes the bottom of her plate harder than normal, "Yes, yes it will be." Agreeing with him will hopefully confuse him more than trying to fight.
"Why don't we make a deal?" Peter brought up, eyebrow raised and head tilted ever to the side as he spoke before it righted itself back up.
"What kind of deal?" Her eyes narrowed.
His look communicated the idea of 'you know better' as he let the question sit for a moment. "I have the resources you need to get what you want. But what do you have in return?"
Leading her to the answer was at least more educational than telling her what he wanted. If she was going to get any better at taking care of herself then she needed to be quick on the uptake. She needed to know what she had to bargain with and what she could do. And as much as Peter hated when she used that knowledge against him she was more than likely if she got that down pat early on.
"I can not tell everyone about some of the shenanigans you’ve pulled on this trip."
"We've pulled," Peter reminded her. "But I see your point. And?"
Of course he was going to hold out on her. "Well," she leans in closer, lips just grazing his cheek. "I can be very appreciative, if you play your cards right." Part of her is appalled she’s offering sex for items, but really it’s just a game.
"Lydia - if I wanted you for your body then I'd have continued last night; you have more value than that."
She huffed, but inwardly felt pleased; if also annoyed because an orgasm last night would have been worlds better than four hours of running. "Fine, I’ll," her eyes darted away but she forced herself to meet his gaze, to let him know she’s telling the truth. "I’ll try to listen to you more often." God, why did that feel worse than offering herself up for sex?
Peter smirked. "Better, much better. But there's two more things I want."
"What?" She rolled her eyes. "My undying devotion?"
"You tell all your friends back home, all the family and pretty much everyone in the world nothing. Shenanigans or otherwise. Nothing you saw or heard," Peter said with a casual tone as he leaned back on the counter, hands wrapping around the edge as he continued to stare at her."On top of that I want you to be honest about what happens. Not avoiding topics - not leaving things out. Full disclosure honesty. Do we have a deal?"
A hard bargain then. "I’m going to have to tell them something Peter," so haggle. "But nothing about you," she agrees. If he wants to keep his rave eyes a secret then that his prerogative; at the moment it doesn’t really affect Scott or the pack.
"You can tell them the things that only apply or relates to you as a banshee," Peter amended.
"Agreed," though it does gall her a little that he’s basically ‘won’.
Peter nodded. There was no need for shaking hands. What was the point of that anyways? He could tell she wasn't lying and knew that once she said something she was true to her word. After all, he'd been inside of her mind for a good amount of time. He knew her better than she sometimes knew herself, at least in certain ways.
"When and where?" He asked her with an easy, sedated tone.
"Right now," she’d rather not wait around in his clothes longer than she has to; it feels too much like an actual relationship. "I miss women’s clothes."
"We'll I'm sorry I don't carry women's clothing anymore," Peter said with a roll of his eyes, "I've had other things to do than appease girlfriends. Like taking care of the town."
"Oh please, that wasn’t exactly a slight on you Peter," another roll of her eyes. "And really considering the last time you dated didn’t end well why would you have women’s clothing anyways, let alone her in Ireland?" Which definitely wasn’t a slight on Mrs. McCall.
Peter moved away from the counter and started to the closet down the narrow hallway that made up the kitchen, He knew exactly what she was talking about with Scott mother, Melissa, but Peter wouldn't be Peter if he didn't turn the comment to entertain him.
"I wouldn't say that. I'm came back to life. I call that a good ending."
Of course he would. "Regardless, I want my own clothes," she thought about it for a second. "And a phone," granted she’d have to let everyone know she had a new number, and all that rigamarole, which was going to be fun. But Stiles was probably going crazy with her not responding to any of his texts. "And toiletries," if sharing clothes was domestic than what was sharing a toothbrush?
"That was a given," Peter said quietly. He emerged back from the closet with his trademark black leather jacket. He had been letting her use it a lot. He held it out to her with an expectant look.
She eyed the jacket warily, there were a lot of conflicting emotions attached to that jacket, but she couldn’t deny that it would be a good addition to the thin shirt she was already wearing—why were all of Peter’s shirts so damn thin? "Thank you," she could be nice too.
______________________________
It turned out that to get to an acceptable store (Peter's standards...mostly) they had to go about an hour. In fact, it was in the same town with the airport that they arrived to the country at.
Well at least no one could deny that Peter had taste, choosing a vaguely high end department store over the numerous tourist shops they’d passed. While inside she feels insignificant on the inside with her flip-flops, cotton shirt, and ill-fitting jacket—and not even in a good way—she doesn’t let any of it show on the outside, marching straight towards the underwear section; not caring of Peter tags along or not, right now he’s just her credit card.
For his part, Peter decided that it would be far less awkward for him if he just took to one of the nice lounges that they left in place for people's husbands and boyfriends. Although, of course, he was neither to Lydia. He didn't even bother picking up a magazine. He just tucked his hands behind his head and leaned back, resting. She'd eventually come to find him. Not that he could lose track of her in a store but, hey, no one needed to know that.
Lydia’s never been happier to go underwear shopping, she stoops to buying a plain six pack of cotton underwear, but one never scrimps on bras. And at least she does her best to match. After trying the bras on, and oh dear Lord did it feel nice, she put her selection in her basket and moved on to dresses. Maybe she’d even lower herself to pants considering how much ‘action’ seemed to be happening around her recently.
Over in the waiting section, if such a seating area could be called that, Peter opened his eyes and searched for a clock. Of course there was none - that might actually have been helpful. For him, not her obviously. She was taken a very long time picking out a few things to wear. Especially considering that he knew practically everything in the store would have things in her size. She wasn't so small they had to find the 00 size dresses but she was no where near the double digits either. And she'd look fine in everything--
Except what she was about to pick out. Sighing, Peter got up and moved over to her cart. He pulled the dress out and set it back on the rack without saying a word.
She narrowed her eyes, "fairly certain I’m allowed to look Peter, even if you don’t like what you see." It wasn’t as if she was actually going to pick that dress.
"You're allowed to look. You're not allowed to go around looking like you have no fashion sense."
An actual snort of laughter manages to escape her. Deciding it best not to reply beyond that Lydia continues, moving onto shirts; she might as well think practical for a change.
Everyone once in a while, Peter grabbed the things she put in there and put them back on the rack. He even substituted the items once in a while, not bothering to check it against Lydia's hair, eyes, skintone or anything. He knew how she looked without needing a reminder, after all. Although he did do a visual reference once to get the idea of her size. She'd changed since he'd come back to life; more mature with more adult curves.
For the most part Lydia’s been picking clothes just to see how Peter reacts, oh, sure, most of the time it’s clothes she’d actually wear, but she was still having fun watching him roll his eyes and snatch them out of the basket faster than she put them in. It’s fun.
But like all fun things it had to end. "I’m done." There are a few more thing she’ll want, but they’ll have to go somewhere else for toiletries and...she counts days in her head, since she doesn’t have her phone to do it for her, and her period’s coming up. Fantastic . And that didn’t even touch on the fact that her birth control had burned up in the fire. Fun times.
"Where to next?"
He tried going for casual but really, no person was perfect and she had been shopping for a long time. Sure she was basically replacing a small portion of her wardrobe but he was pretty sure that hours had come and gone just as easily as lives in Beacon Hills. Yet he knew that there were still things she was missing and some part of him clenched over the idea that if he had ever had a kid before this probably wouldn't be such a strange situation to him. Already it was a little tedious but most of that came from fighting over her suddenly decreased lack of style. He could scarcely imagine if he had to take children to do this every year before school. Oh the horror.
"Toiletries," she insisted. The sooner they got that done the less embarrassment for the both of them.
That was going to require a different store entirely. Peter didn't visibly or verbally respond as he took control the cart and headed over to the checkout. The bill, for most people (and even Peter in some ways), was quite the sum. A good deal of what people were allowed to bring in pure cash with them overseas which meant that he ended up having to use the bank card. And while never liked banks (the idea that someone else, even an employee had access to his money was unsettling) he kept a "small" amount in one just for ease. In this case the conversion that came at a small charge.
She keeps quiet as Peter pays for everything, though she does have a little wince at the end price tag, and, arms full of bags, she follows him into the next shop. Probably even more eager than him to get this done with, feeling odd about doing this with someone else.
This store was a bit more crowded considering that it was pretty much for everyday use items - all the hygiene essentials. Even as they entered into the building, Peter shuddered at the domesticity of it all. Of course Peter had brought his own as had Lydia, it was just that everything she had, had been burnt up in the attempt on her life.
Quickly she grabs a toothbrush and a travel-sized tube of toothpaste, she passes on the makeup—she can do without for a few more days—but eagerly grabs the first shampoo and conditioner that appeals to her. Peter ended up grabbing a chapstick, lipgloss he knew she liked the color of, soft pencil eyeliner, and waterproof mascara when she wasn't looking. He saw she'd avoided the makeup section and it wasn't like Lydia Martin to look anything other than ready to take on the world and look fabulous doing it. To see her reduced to anything less was almost a crime. Not, of course, that she ever needed to know that.
Then comes the inevitable. Though really? Is it that big a ******** deal? Deciding to pretend like it’s not that big a deal she marches down the feminine hygiene aisle and snatches up the first container of tampons she comes across, and a bottle of midol; almost daring, in her mind, for Peter to comment. Instead of comment, Peter tossed in a package of flushable hygiene wipes and waited for her to lead to another section.
"I’m ready," there wasn’t anything else she thought she needed, though the moment he’d paid for everything she was making a beeline for the bathroom to actually dress in clothes.
Two last store before they headed home. First, because it was closer, Peter found a respectable looking luggage store. After all she was going to need something to take her clothes back with her. Not to mention things to store them in if she wanted to stay at the cottage, not like there were any other options available. The town was really small and the only Bed and Breakfast had tried to kill her. Of course, he was still under the delusion that she wasn't going to take over half of his closet.
Him getting her luggage surprised her, though it shouldn’t have...she thinks. Right now she’s just a bit overwhelmed by it all; but at least she looks a million times better than she did. After a whole new luggage set was bought it was on to the horror or the shoe shop. Which was in another department store but it seemed to have things than the clothes of the first store. Now Peter had patience and technically this had been his idea but even he had to look at all the shoes of the place and shake his head. There were so many different styles in which to break people's ankles with and kill the natural arch of the feet. Still, shoes were needed. It wasn't like he wanted her running around barefoot and thus being secluded to the cottage the whole time.
Usually the idea of shoe shopping, well any shopping really, was the highlight of her day. But right now she was just going through the motions. She bypassed the heels completely—internally sighing—and browsed the flats, she may be going through the motions but she was going to pass on the actual running shoes thank you.
She picked out a pair that fit her, and look cute enough; and debated on getting a second pair of shoes just in case. Then realized ‘just in case’ has been happening a lot to her recently and decided why the ******** not. Her second pair was a bit more colorful and flirty, but they were also comfortable. "Okay," she hated sounding so docile, but she was actually starting to feel tired; she wondered if it’s the incubus attack and her midnight run finally catching up to her.
While silently agreeing with her choices, Peter wondered if some part of Lydia had been left back in Beacon Hills. Although the lack of heels would be better for her in the forest terrain, the hills and grass, and just incase she had to run. If he had his way, however, there would be no running. Once the shoes were all paid for and placed in the luggage with the bags of clothes (squished for a moment) so they could be carried, Peter called up the same taxi company they had used up to this point with the intent of going back to the cottage.
"Let's hope this all fits in the trunk," Peter said with a mocking smile.
She didn’t rise to the bait, but watching him make the call reminded Lydia that there was one more thing they needed to get. "My phone," she told him.
He wasn't going to admit to the fact that he'd forgotten about the cell phone, though he obviously had. Instead, once the taxi arrives, they are taken to the only cell phone company that has shops in all the large countries around the world = Konect. It was more expensive by nature and not exactly well heard of outside of certain circles, they definitely didn't advertise as much other companies in the United States did. But there was one thing other than the world wide service that was interesting about them. The company was built up by supernaturals and for the most part only hired supernaturals, or at the very least humans in the know. Peter withheld that bit of information from Lydia. Not out of spite, but as a way to see how long it would take for her to figure out - if she ever figured it out.
Feeling like she might keel over at at moment Lydia barely focused on anything more on whether or not she actually liked the phones she was looking over. She finally settled on a white cased Android, that had decent enough data storage space, and a good camera. "Ready," it came out with half a yawn before she could stop it.
Peter's lips quirked up. So she hadn't noticed the phone number yet. This was going to be interesting. He wondered how her little friend Stiles was going to react by being called by a 666 area code. Because it had fallen into disuse sometime around the 60's the supernatural, international company scooped it up and worked around the legal lines to secure it for their phone company. First they started off with 000 prefix before moving on to 111 once the company got enough clients to warrant needing two prefixes for when the first filled up.
"Then let's go back home," Peter said in casual tone, mildly wondering if she'd pick up on the reference because the domestic atmosphere was really strange for him.
In fact, strange didn't even come close to describing it. Peter knew that there wasn't any option - none safe for him at least. So breaking it up like he had in the cafe not that long ago would be a very bad idea with the hunters trying to kill her still on the loose.
She didn’t say anything as she climbed into the taxi, the moment she was in her seat she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cool glass of the window. Resolving to try and get her phone to where she wanted it when she woke up. Right now it’d just be too much work for her addled mind. With that thought sleep claims her.
______________________________
By the time that the night had fallen, Peter had finally made sense of one thing in Natalie's notes. There was a small patch of trees surrounding rocks overgrown by grass and moss. In the middle rainwater collected but it wasn't the natural features that was of interest to the werewolf. It was the fact that she pinpointed natural energy flowing out of the area when the water collected between the stones that made Peter a very curious creature indeed.
So after carrying Lydia to the house, waking her up just enough so she didn't freak out when he had to put her over his shoulders to get up the ladder, Peter went out to look after it. What he found really was exactly as described. A small patch of green undisturbed by humans. What he didn't expect was most of the animals of the area never bothered to go near it either. The area smelled clean and the water, while murky and colored with the grass, didn't smell right. It wasn't the scent of pollution, nor any toxin. It was the smell of a flower he couldn't exactly name, actually. Considering that he was used to knowing every smell that disturbed him. The fact that water smelled like flowers also disturbed him.
Peter narrowed his eyes at the seasonal puddle before turning around and walking back to the cabin. Lydia had woken up and was doing something in his house that required a lot of noise to be made.
Feeling a million times better than she had when she’d fallen asleep Lydia didn’t bother to wonder where Peter’d gone, instead focusing on setting up her phone and downloading all her apps again; then texting everyone to let them know about the number change ’666’? Really?
That done she started dealing with all her clothes, hanging up her dresses and tucking bras and underwear into a narrow drawer. As she worked hunger started gnawing at her, and she also began poking around the fridge for something she could eat. Unfortunately Peter's ideal diet didn't exactly cater to Lydia's taste buds. He tended to like his meat and potatoes. There was, however, things for side salads in there. Only he wasn't exactly in the habit for shopping for two and he hadn't made a trip to the local market in a few days.
With a sigh she pulled out a steak and some salad makings; needs must after all. She salted and peppered the steak, then set it in the spitting hot skillet. The smell of cooking steak soon filled the cottage, making her mouth water despite the fact she’d couldn’t remember the last time she’d had steak. As it cooked she quickly tossed up a salad, nibbling on a carrot all the while.
Flipping the steak she looked at the browned flesh, her mouth watering and her stomach giving a strange twist at the same time. But her hunger quickly overcame the latter. When the steak finished cooking she put it on a plate next to her salad, and grabbing a fork and steak knife, sat down. With more hunger than glee she tore into it.
But she only got halfway through it before her stomach decided to protest. "s**t," thank God the bathroom was close.
Peter got back to the cottage just in time to see Lydia scurry off to the bathroom. He had smelled the scent of her cooking since he started back but some part of him honestly believed she wouldn't eat it. That her mother would have told her at this point. Unfortunately for him, that wasn't the case as was proven by the unpleasant things happening in the bathroom. Peter picked up her plate and put it back on the counter. he grabbed a dishrag and walked into the bathroom, tying her hair up with the rag because there really was nothing else. She shuddered as she felt too warm hands gather her hair up and tie it back; which helped, but wasn’t exactly what she wanted at the moment. And once that was done, without a word, he walked back out and tried to block out the stimuli.
Throwing up was the worst, no bones about it; even moreso because it’d been a long time since it’d last happened to her. Finally her stomach seemed to give up the ghost and she flushed the toilet as she rested her head against the cool tank. "Oh God," she moaned. "This is the worst." It’d never been this bad the few times she’d gotten well and truly drunk.
Meanwhile, Peter separated the salad on her plate onto a separate one as well as added a large serving of bread. It was, of course, the last of the food that Lydia would be able to eat. She was going to have to go shopping for things to her tastes...but only after she found out why she was in that bathroom.
When she finally felt like she could stand again she used the shower stall to pull herself up, vigorously brushing her teeth to get the taste of sick out of her mouth. Feeling more like herself she looked at her pale reflection in the mirror for a second before jerking herself away and exiting the bathroom.
Her eyes zeroed in on the plate of salad and bread that had replaced her steak and she tore into the bread, eager for anything to fill her stomach. She gave a sidelong look at Peter lurking by the unused fireplace. "Thank you, for the food." Now his bedside manner...that needed some work.
Peter let out a hum like sound, tilting his head in acknowledgement. "Tomorrow you're going to go get food that you're body can handle. Trying to eat like a human....much less a werewolf will kill you, you know. At the very least keep you in an uncomfortable, bathroom seeking state."
"What, are you, talking about?" She asked him between bites. Sure her mom had raised her vegetarian, but as far as Lydia knew that was more personal preference than actual dietary reasons.
"Have you ever heard the term 'Fae', Lydia?" It was story time, featuring Peter!
She rolled her eyes "Yes Peter, I’ve read plenty of legends about the fae. Are you telling me that..."
"Yes, Lydia. Banshee are Fae. You are born as what you are meant to be, it's all just a matter if it's triggered or not. Sometimes the power lays dormant through generations, sometimes it comes into life at the wrong time. And for those of the later case well...modern society doesn't prepare your mind for powers such as yours," Peter continued, his tone the perfect narration for the information he was delivering. He always had a knack for stories - or so he liked to think. "Which is a shame because I've found banshee to be quite helpful when you're not treated like the town's insane pariah. But I suppose it's only natural that most societies are afraid of what they can not control. And fae are among the creatures that humans have no control over anymore...not that they ever really did."
Lydia found herself staring off into the middle distance, trying to absorb all of that. "So I’m a faerie?" The most logical part of her still thought that was ridiculous.
"Banshee," Peter corrected. "Think of fae as a species. Fae have multiple races just as there are different types of Shifters."
"Semantics," again. But still… "So what I’m allergic to meat?" Faeries always seemed to not eat meat in any of the stories she read.
"In this case, the distinctions are important. You are a banshee. You are not a faerie. Faeries have been nothing more than childhood stories even for my family for centuries," Peter corrected. The sooner she understood her place the in the world the sooner she would get the hang of it. And then she'd be very useful. "And yes, in a manner of speaking you are. It's really the iron in the meat that your body can't handle anymore. All fae have negative reaction to iron."
"Great,”" she tapped her fingers rapidly against the table, trying to recall what else she’d read about the fae.
"Power doesn't come without a price, even if you're born to have it," Peter reminded her.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Peter’s words; so very cliche coming from him. Though, of course, they were right. "Anything else I should know?" Besides to avoid kale.
"Oh, plenty. But it's better for you to learn as your mother did - slowly," Peter cautioned. "If you force the powers to develop before your body and mind is ready to handle them, you will be driven mad….or so I've heard."
Well that was frustrating, especially for someone like her; granted if someone had told Stiles that he’d probably bite their head off. "I mean other things to avoid Peter."
Peter shrugged. "I am not all knowing, despite what you might think. Fae lines have pretty much trickled down to extinction in this world and a lot of information has been lost to time."
"Thanks, I really wanted to hear that," she dragged her finger through the leftover dressing, making absent designs on the plate. "Well that’s just great then, I’ll muddle my way through it, just like every other damn thing in my life recently."
Recently was probably the best term for it. Peter remembered detailing a lot of things for Lydia to do, giving her information about werewolf rituals that even Derek hadn't heard of. Otherwise he'd have known better than to let Lydia sneak up on him or to have kept Peter's body completely intact. But when it came to the realm of Banshee mostly everything Peter knew either came from Natalie herself or from childhood stories. And while there was always a certain kernel of truth in myths it was a hard battle trying to figure out what truth the myth had folded inside of itself. That's why family bestiaries were such a precious object - meant to be protected and passed down until time stopped.
"This is why your mother sent you here Lydia. Most of the stories of Banshee originate from this area. The celtic and germanic zones."
"Sent me with information wildly out of date and so vague that it’s nearly gotten me killed...twice." Just once, could she find a clear answer?
"Don't be ungrateful Lydia," Peter chidded. "From what I know of your mother...she came here with no information at all. She was the first banshee in your family in a while."
Lydia sighed. "I’m not ungrateful, " she licked her finger clean. "Just for once I want a straight answer, no one trying to kill me..." She sighed again.
"There are worse things they can do to you," Peter cautioned. "But for now you should just focus on learning. And on that note - there's an area about a mile from here that might be a good place for you to start in the morning."
"It’s just going to be yet another dead end," she mutters to herself. They’re basically her whole life at this point.
"Have I ever led you to a dead end?" Peter quipped.
As far as she knows it’s the truth, but she could do without the jocular tone. "Fine, tomorrow."
She also called the embassy to notify them about her number change, also finding out her new documentation was ready, thank God.
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Vicious Madam Mari Captain
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Vicious Madam Mari Captain
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Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2015 5:15 pm
April 28th, 2013
When the morning sun finally turned all the surface water into sparkling, liquid crystals, Peter showed Lydia the exact spot he was at last night. The area hadn't changed at all other than the fact that he could actually see the true color of the area instead of focusing on his low-light vision. The colors in this area seemed much more pronounced in the daylight even when compared to something ten feet away. Like if one stepped back they were looking through some strange filter, or maybe at a hyper realistic painting of paradise. There were even small flowers budding along the moss covered rocks, like little white stars, that hadn't been there last night. Peter decided after a minute of standing at the nature made puddle that they were not responsible for the fact that the water still smelled of an unnamable flower itself.
The place Peter took her to was stunning. And Lydia found herself reminded of some sort of Romantic painting, all overgrown nature and intense light. It took her breath away.
Everything just seemed so alive, and she found a feeling of lightness starting to overcome her; though she also found herself wary of that lightness, for all she knew it was a trap.
Still she found herself stepping forward, toward the puddle. There was a whisper in the wind and the closer she got the clearer it became.
“Only truth to pass the lips, over all the tongue shall slip.”
Frowning Lydia knelt by the edge of the pool. Staring into the water she realized that the sky reflected in it wasn’t the sky above it.
"Lydia…" Peter said in a cautious tone, grabbing at her arm from his position behind her.
She shrugged off his grasping hand easily. "I”ll be fine Peter, it’s not going to hurt me." At least something in this country wasn’t for a change.
Peter's eyes narrowed but he slowly let go of her arm, finger by finger. He didn't exactly have very much trust about things he didn't know about. But this was why they, mostly she, had come out to this country. To find out what was unknown. He just wished there was a more assured way to go about it.
Grateful that he wasn’t going to stop her Lydia cupped her hands and dipped them into the puddle, finding it to be much deeper than it actually appeared. Something like laughter escaped her as she remembered one of those ridiculous posts Stiles had once shown her. It wasn't like she was going to fall into hell or anything.
Shaking those thoughts off Lydia lifted her hands, water streaming from them; the water far warmer than she’d expected it to be. Before the last of it could slip from her fingers she lifted her hands to her lips and drank.
Infinite sweetness burst over her tongue, like someone had liquefied her favorite candy and turned it into water just for her. It was the sweetest, most delicious water she’d ever tasted in her life. And she found herself smiling. "Wow."
Words couldn't exactly express what the look on Peter's face got across. There was a question, a hint of apprehension, and a cool calculating gaze trying to figure out what just happened. A good portion of that could be found from the nose up - the Hale eye and eyebrow game was strong.
The dubious expression on Peter’s face made her roll her eyes. Dipping her hands in again she scooped up more water. "Come on Peter, you should try it." The water seemed to fall from her hands faster than it did last time. "It’s wonderful." She smiled at him.
"You're joking, right?" Peter asked in a bland tone. He might be a werewolf but there was no way in hell, outside of death by dehydration, that he was going to drink out of a puddle.
"It’s just water Peter," the best water she’s ever tasted sure, but still water.
"I'll pass. I don't make a habit of eating flowers and I certainly won't drink it from an untested source."
"Clearly I just tested it Peter," she rolled her eyes. "It’s fine. It’s only water." You’d think he’d actually trust her after what they’ve been through, she was trying to help him for a change and what did she get? Ingratitude. Still she’d persevere. And maybe if she couldn’t get him to drink she could get someone else to.
"I'll pass," Peter said dryly.
He was not about to trust water that smelled like it was made of an unknown flower. He wouldn't really trust an unknown flower to begin with but added onto the fact that it somehow took on the form of water? Nope, not unless someone forced it down his throat.
Lydia found herself pouting. "Spoilsport." She tapped her fingers against the stone she was kneeling on, wondering if she should start playing dirty. Hmmm…
”Speak of a fathered child, of fair face but hardly mild.”
Laughter seemed to wrap itself around Peter.
But Lydia didn’t feel inclined to ignore it. "I have a secret for you Peter..." she crooked her finger.
This water had somehow made her drunk; he couldn't smell the intoxication but he could definitely see it in her face and hear it in her tone of voice. "And what would that be?"
She pouted again, "well if you’re not going to come here so I can whisper it in your ear then maybe I’ll tell someone else." Her fingers fumbled slightly as she pulled out her phone, but she still managed it.
"You realize you're drunk, right?" Peter questioned up mildly but decided to humor her.
What harm could leaning in a little so a drunken girl could whisper something do?
"I’m not drunk," she snapped at him, some of her good will evaporating.
"Fine, intoxicated," Peter quipped back in response. "So what was this oh so important thing you wanted to tell me?"
"Well I’m not gonna tell you now," she sticks her tongue out at him. "You’re being mean." Picking up her phone again she dials Stiles’ number. "I’ll tell Stiles instead though." She says brightly.
To be brutally honest, Stiles wasn't even aware he'd zoned out until the moment his phone all of scared the bejeebies out of him. He had basically flown five hundred feet into the air, well in Stiles' metrics, to find himself in his jeep. When did that happen? The boy looked down at the screen and his eyes bugged out of his face when he noticed the most beautiful strawberry blonde hair paired with gorgeous green eyes, and a line of gibberish as if he didn't know what it said. The boy didn't hesitate a second longer, and pushed a green button and brought the phone to his ear. "Lydia?!" he spoke into the phone waiting for a response.
"Hi Stiles!" Lydia cooed, "How’re you?"
Stiles looked around his car, looking at his head where a good sized red mark formed from laying on his steering wheel before answering, "Probably not as good as you... You been drinking tonight Lydia?" he could recognize the tone of her voice, sounded similar to the one of a very high on anti psychotics Lydia like he's seen once before. Least she didn't think everything was a mountain lion... Or did she.
Lydia narrowed her eyes at her phone even if Stiles couldn’t see it. "Why does everyone think I’m drunk? I’ve only had water today, Jesus."
"Water that smells like an unknown plant," Peter remarked from his spot, having leaned back when lydia decided she wasn't going to tell him anything.
"It’s water" she enunciated. "You can’t get drunk off water."
"And there's no such thing as werewolves," Peter said sarcastically with a slight roll of his eyes.
"Well maybe if you had just drunk like I asked you to we wouldn’t be in this situation." Seriously, was it too much to ask?
"HOLD UP! What?! That's Peter I hear, and you're asking him to - Lydia?!"
"That's not the only thing she's asked," The older werewolf replied in a calm voice, his arms crossed over the expanse of his chest.
Lydia reached into the pool and splashed water on him "I’m not supposed to tell you Stiles," she whispers. Promises are promises.
"Oh, real mature sweetheart."
"TELL ME WHAT?! I know that sounds an awful lot like me asking you to tell me what you're not suppose to tell me, but seriously what are you talking about Lydia! I've been unable to talk to you the past couple days and now you're this - and I don't even know exactly what this is... I'm coming to Ireland! I will find a way, I'll call in favors, and do you know how hard it is to gain favors?! REALLY HARD, Lydia! really really insanely hard."
"Nooooo!" She smacked her hand emphatically against the water. "I mean you should come here to try the water because oh my God Stiles. Remember that time in the fifth grade when I brought everyone those chocolates that tasted like booze and the teacher got really pissed, but my mom swore up and down that there wasn’t any booze in them, and we were all just sitting around eating them and laughing? This water totally tastes like that. But you also shouldn’t come because you won’t like it here." Historically Peter and Stiles didn’t get along.
"I REMEMBER YOU NOT GIVING ME ONE!!! YOU PURPOSEFULLY SKIPPED OVER ME! And that only makes it more intriguing, Lydia, you know how much I hate this! I hate it more than it is hard to get a favor called in."
"I totally gave you one," she pouted. "That’s the whole point of Valentines in grade school Stiles, everyone gives one to everyone."
Stiles could remember specifically not getting valentines from anyone but Scott in elementary school. And he worked REALLLY hard on Lydia's. He made something out of construction paper, and glitter glue and an entire bag of candy. Of course it was extensive, but she was worth it. Stiles was Twitter patted! "To be honest I wouldn't be surprised if Cathy stole all my valentines... She had something against me. REGARDLESS LYDIA, You shouldn't even be talking to Peter, we have a deal! remember the deal? A happy Stiles, is a happy Lydia.... And the way to a Happy Stiles is a preferably dead Peter, but seeing as though that is out of the question as for this moment anyway, a very far away Peter."
"I'm standing right here, Stiles," Peter reminded the younger boy. "And I'll remind you, I've been very helpful lately."
"Yeah, I really don't care. Your version of helpful doesn't align with mine."
"There was no deal," she say in a vaguely German accent for no real reason. ”But Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. I have a secret to tell you! Ask me before I forget!”
"Uhm - what's the secret?" the boy wondered.
"Peter..." she stared at the pool and it’s strange reflection.
"Lydia…" Peter said quietly so Stiles couldn't hear from across the phone.
"Peter has a daughter," she sing-songed loudly; probably loud enough for the whole island to hear.
Peter's mouth opened up slightly and a denial spilled from his lips, "I think I would know if I had a daughter."
Well then again, given his family and Talia's...distrust of him, to put it mildly, there was a good chance that he wouldn't. Unknowingly, Peter's hand went to rub at the back of his neck. When he realized that, he brought his fingers down quickly with a mildly shocked expression.
Lydia laughed "Your face is funny right now."
Stiles froze, "I don't care about Peter's lineage... Wait who is it?" the boy asked. "I swear to you if she's some bitter, v-neck wearing, sour wolf I will move to the Bahamas."
"The voice just said she was fair of face, but hardly mild," Lydia hummed. "Maybe if Peter drank the damn water! He’d know more."
"WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THIS STUPID WATER, LYDIA?! Is it like magic memory water? Or like - fairy water from the legend of Zelda, heals all your heart containers... I could use a dip right now."
"It's an intoxication liquid that's made her a bit delusional," Peter responded in a dry tone, although what she said was ringing through his head over and over again.
She splashed her hand against the puddle again, sending water flying once more. "IT’S GODDAMN ******** WATER YOU a*****e."
"GASP LYDIA THIS IS PUBLIC TELEVISION!!! We're not even TV 16! b***h and a** only!!"
”Screw you Stiles, you’re not even here."
"Let's keep it that way," Peter snarked from the sidelines.
He started to wring out his shirt, uncaring if that stretched the thin cotton-jersey blend out. The fact that it wasn't his longest shirt when he pulled it up to squeeze it out never passed his mind either. If this water was making Lydia this crazy, who knows what else it could do?
"Why did you call me anyway?"
"Because Peter wouldn’t drink the water. Obviously." She covered the mic on her phone. "Wooohooo, take it off!"
Peter glared at her slightly from his position, though making no verbal comment back. It was below him in this circumstance after all.
Stiles' mouth hung open for a moment before he could think of something to say. "How was calling me suppose to change that?"
"Because I thought if I called you! He’d drink the water so I didn’t tell you the secret. But Peter’s an a**." She stuck her tongue out at him again.
Personally Peter didn't think he was an a** (although he did have a nice one thank you very much). He just wasn't exactly into submitting to egocentric teenagers. But that line of speech was better saved for another, more effective time.
"Why would Peter care? Will he even ever cross paths with this b*****d child of his?" he was almost curious in a banshee foresee type way.
"Which I do not have," Peter said sincerely.
"Because it’s Peter! And he has a secret amnesia baby! He’s his own Harlequin categorical romance!"
Well now that he wasn't going to deny. The amnesia baby yes. Although the thought of it was really itching at the back of his mind.
"And I'm the test specimen for most scientific research... We all have our gigs, Lydia. And quite frankly, this doesn't sound like something Peter would hold much interest in. Scott was his beta, and he all of wanted to kill him. Unless Peter wants to eat his b*****d baby thing."
"That's a lie," Peter said holding up his finger. "Have I wanted to maim him a little? Yes. Kill him? No, I've never tried to kill Scott and I never planned to."
"So the whole, Alpha gets more power once he kills his beta didn't matter to you? I find that hard to believe."
"Well when we found that out, I wasn't an alpha now was I?" Peter snarked back.
Lydia glared at her phone, This conversation was supposed to be about her damn it! "Boo, you whore!" She hung up her phone.
Peter mildly clapped for Lydia, in a slow sarcastic manner.
"NOW JUST DRINK THE DAMN WATER!"
Back across the country..."LY- wait - lydia? LYDIA!!!!!" Stiles groaned, dropping his phone into his lap.
In Ireland, Peter sighed and held out his hand to her. "Are you done playing around, Lydia?"
Leaning down again Lydia cupped her hands in the pool again, bringing it to her lips and sipping it into her mouth. She nodded and took his hand.
With ease, Peter pulled her up. He went slow as to not jar her because who knows what else the water had been doing to her body. For all he knew it could make her sick to her stomach and moving nauseous people quickly was never the smartest move.
Lydia let herself be pulled up, the moment she could potentially stand on her own two feet pitching herself forward to land against Peter’s chest. She tilted her head up.
"Are you feeling alright?" Peter asked, his tone more probing than concerned.
He started to look down to see if he could see anything in the pores of her skin. Concentrating to making sure that there was no signs of bacteria or infection or whatever she could get from this alcoholic, flower smelling, damnable water.
Rising up to her tip toes she pressed her lips against Peter’s. There was a moment where Peter debated about throwing her off. But if this helped her trust him without question then why not. He knew better than to do anything more. Especially if she was intoxicated. But one kiss wouldn't exactly brake anyone's back. After all...like nephew like uncle (Yep, looking at you Derek...kissing Erica before throwing her off...you naughty boy).
Internally she crowed in triumph when she felt Peter return the kiss, opening her mouth she exhaled the water into his. Peter drew back instantly, pushing Lydia away from him as though she had the plague. Although given the fact that he didn't throw her anywhere near full strength the most that would have happened is that she would have fallen into the puddle. He wasn't, however, quick enough to spit all of the water out and some ended up sliding down his throat. As the cool liquid made it's way down to his stomach, Peter couldn't help but feel the muscles around his throat start to tingle; like something very good was happening but he knew it was actually pretty bad.
Lydia didn’t even care that she got tossed. "Got you!" She sing-songed again. "In this together!"
"Lydia…" Peter growled out with narrowed eyes.
"Awww Peter," she cozied up to him. "Don’t be such a sourpuss, wasn’t that the best stuff you’ve ever drunk?"
"I've had better," Peter answered easily.
"Booooo, you’re the worst." She started stumbling her way back to the cabin.
"It's the other way," Peter said, feeling as though the words had been ripped out of his mouth.
Really, he had intended to let her stumble around the forest in penance. But something had drawn the information out of him and it burned. like it had been something he tried to fight but couldn't and his body had succumbed to the fight.
"P’shaw." She whirled around and trotted up to Peter, grabbing the back of his shirt. ”Walk that way long enough and you’d eventually get to the cabin, if you’re willing to walk for a few years."
"Are you forgetting about the ocean? Multiple oceans?"
"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming." She said to the back of his head.
"You're a banshee, not a little mermaid," Peter said with a roll of his eyes.
Lydia’s face grew long, even if he couldn’t see it. "My grandma used to read that to me all the time, even if it was depressing as ********. For a whole month I insisted everyone call me Ariel like in the movie. Which I liked better."
"That's because you never read our version. The little mermaid was a tool in your version. In ours she ate the competitor...although then the prince hunted her down, but," Peter shrugged before realizing that he hadn't meant to say all of that.
What was wrong with him?
Lydia blinked, not sure if she liked this new chatty Peter. "Did he kill her? Or did she kill him?"
"They killed each other," Peter answered as he started in the real direction of the cabin.
She hums in interest. "Not exactly better than is it."
"Oh, it's a much better story. The mermaid in this one doesn't pine away and give up. She shows she's strong and while she loves the human, she's not willing to let him kill her or die just because of him. She doesn't give up who she is and where she came from...unlike all the human versions."
Not feeling a need to respond Lydia trots after him, his damp shirt still in her hands. The further they get from the puddle the more herself she feels, not that she’d felt all that different really around the pool, just less inhibited. And Stiles was totally going to kill her when they got back to Beacon Hills. She groaned.
"That wore off quicker than I thought it was going to," the werewolf who was leading her commented.
"Hmmm? We’re not near the puddle anymore, I think that’s why." Although she’d never heard of being locationally drunk.
"That's good to know," Peter mused. He looked back to Lydia. "Having any other troubles?"
Namely did she remember that whole 'daughter' thing and then forcing him to drink by kissing him. Which he was going to have to get back at her for. He was trying to be a nice person and then she used that against him.
She didn’t feel too bad about blushing profusely, considering Peter couldn’t see it. "I know you have a daughter Peter, you’re the one who’s been expounding on my ‘expanded senses’ and then when I use them you don’t believe me?"
Peter mentally admitted she was right. Verbally he was going to do no such thing.
"Look at it from my perspective. Wouldn't I have known if I had a child?"
Again...Talia could have made him not know but did his sister really hate him that much? Maybe. That was always a toss up. Unless the child was fairly new then he was going to have to figure out just what the hell that b***h Jennifer (...the nurse) had done to him when he wasn't paying attention. Or figured out where she went for ten months because there was no way he wouldn't have noticed that.
Lydia rolled her eyes at his back. "How the hell should I know what you got up to and summarily forgot in your college years..." She drifted off realizing she shouldn’t know that, but apparently did.
A father? The thought chilled something deep inside of him as his stomach knotted into a ball. He remembered, once upon a time, swearing he'd never be like his father. But if he was a father that meant he had neglected the child for who knows how long. Did they ever even see him? She - Lydia said it was a she. Peter's eyebrows drew together as they got to the cabin. If she was right he had a daughter out there. What was she like? Was she a human? Or did she become a werewolf like him? That transition, if it had happened already, would not have been a graceful one. He really hoped Lydia was wrong. He didn't want to be a father...because that meant that he'd already failed too many times to count by not knowing.
Lydia opened the door, not finding herself bothered all that much by Peter’s silence. But despite his denial she knows she’s right. "Are you hungry?" She kind of was, but their food picking were kind of slim at the moment, should have done grocery shopping when they did all of her stuff yesterday.
"What did you expect to eat? Eachother?" Peter questioned up with a mild sarcastic voice.
She hummed, "I’d like to avoid cannibalism thank you."
"Technically it wouldn't be cannibalism. We're not the same species."
Peter stopped mid step. Where the hell had that come from? Sure he said some disturbing things just to get a rise out of people but he hadn't even known he was going to say that before it slipped out. And if he was anything, Peter was manipulative. A person couldn't manipulate someone if they didn't guard the words being said. Which at that moment he hadn't.
"Yes that would totally hold up in a court of law," she said with a snort.
"Oh you'd be surprised," Peter remarked.
"What is there a supernatural Judge Judy?" Lydia might actually watch that show now that she thought about it.
"We used to be a law unto ourselves," Peter said as he sat down on the stone bench. "The judge, and for the most part the jury, was the alpha of the pack in whose territory the crime was committed in or against. Werewolf packs are meant to do more than howl at the moon Lydia."
Interesting, though she wasn’t sure how that was applicable at the moment. "None of this changes the fact that your fridge is empty, empty, empty."
"You're welcome to go shopping," was his response.
She gave a haughty sniff. "It’s your cabin. Why don’t you do the grocery shopping?"
"Because it's too domestic," Peter said, narrowing his eyes. Why was he saying these things? "And since you've taken over and moved in with me, you can do the domestics."
"It’s not domestic, it’s practical. You do your own grocery shopping back in Beacon Hills right? Or do you have a personal shopper because you don’t want to do something so banal?"
"I shop for myself because it benefits me to do so."
"No wonder you’re so uptight, you clearly never spoil yourself." Seriously, he could do with a spa day. And what the hell was she thinking?!
Peter raised an eyebrow at that. "You and I must have different definitions of spoiling ourselves. I prefer quality over quantity."
And yes, that could be taken as a jab to her multitude of partners over the summer. Her room still vaguely smelled like them all.
"You do it right you still have a lot of fun with the quantity." She always made damn sure her boytoy gave her at least one orgasm when they had sex; otherwise she wouldn’t ******** them.
"On the other hand you can ensure the quality and never have to worry about it down the line. Having to adjust less quality products to fit your needs is never as satisfying as finding the perfect combination. And in this world perfect combinations are rare so I doubt you've ever had the chance to experience that."
Lydia arched an eyebrow and pursed her lips. "From what I’ve experienced so far perfection is overrated....Though you’re welcome to try and prove me wrong..." She must still be a little ‘drunk’ otherwise she didn’t think she’d be playing with him like this.
"Wouldn't you hate it more if I didn't?" Peter returned with a confident smirk.
After all, she seemed completely put out the other night. So put out that she went on a four hour run.
"Not at the moment, no." It was a dare, plain and simple "What? Are you scared?"
Slowly, Peter stood up. He made no rush in his movements, the smooth steps of a man who knew exactly what he was hunting. He moved over to her, towering over seven inches now that she'd chosen to forgo high heeled shoes. there was a hand width of space between him as he tilted his head, watching her expression. More carefully he took in her scent. And no matter the normal lines that were drawn when they were in beacon hills, when social views were so readily in the background, Peter knew exactly how he was effecting her. His hand went to brush her cheek, slipping around her ear to push wayward fiery strands and smirking.
"Of you? Hardly. I have no reason to fear the strength I see in you."
A shiver raced down her spine at the touch; both enjoyable and traitorous. Stupid sex hormones. Though the backhanded compliment is nice, even if it’s from Peter. Though really she can be scary when she wanted to be.
"Strength is something to be coveted...not feared," Peter murmured as his hand trailed down her neck to rest at her shoulder. "And it should be nourished, not subjugated because it impedes the weaker person's ego."
In a way this was kind of Lydia’s fantasy, she just never expected it to come from Peter. And despite her best intentions she found herself preening under the praise, it was a bit of a failing Lydia knew. His hand on her shoulder was warm and made this whole conversation feel that much more intimate. Which is why she dared to ask the next logical question.
"Well then, if not me. What do you fear?"
Peter felt something tugging at his tongue. Telling her the truth about being afraid of her, or rather not being afraid, worked in his favor. So it had come off smoothly. But this next question everything inside of him faught. It was like a burning liquid churning inside of him, eating away at the flesh from the inside out.
"Destruction," Peter said as he took a half step back, his hand moving away from her as though she were on fire.
The answer didn’t shock or surprise her, he lived in her head for a few months, she lived his nightmares. "I know," is all she said in reply.
"Then why did you ask?" Peter asked scathingly.
"I don’t know Peter! It just felt like the thing to do! It feels like I barely know what I’m doing on the best of days at the moment," she didn’t mean to admit that, but now she’d said it and she couldn’t take it back.
"I can see that. What happened to the Lydia Martin who had a whole ten year plan? Didn't leave enough room in it for adaptability?"
She bared her teeth at him. Around them it began to rain, grimacing Lydia stepped back into cabin. She wasn’t going to answer that, why did she need too? Peter knew the answer as well as her, however… "I think you have me confused with someone else concerning ten year plans Peter."
"What happened to your Fields Medal?" Peter asked, rounding into the house with a dominant posture, shoulders back and smirk in place as per usual.
From inside the cabin she bristled. "I’m still getting my medal," she declared, drawing herself up as tall as she could; peanuts compared to Peter, but it made her feel better. "Not even another werewolf taking over my mind would stop me getting that."
Peter rolled his eyes sassily. "I doubt another werewolf would be able to slip into your mind."
"Because you’re clearly such a special snowflake." And they were so far off track from the original bent of this conversation.
The look he gave her was chiding. "I'm glad you finally noticed that."
She sneered, but didn’t answer. Instead heading over to the dresser and pulling out the only coat she’d bought yesterday, jerking it on before heading back to the door. She was too hungry to keep dealing with him.
"Be careful to not catch your death out there, the irony might be too much," Peter commented casually as he went into the cabin further. He had a long hot shower to take and nothing was going to stop him.
she snapped in reply as she dialed the taxi company, slamming the door on her way out.
"Language," the werewolf said with a smile, though she couldn't see him.
Somehow she managed to hear him and she snarled. "Oh I’m sorry," she shouted back behind her. "I didn’t realize the water also transported us back in time." She could curse all she damn well wanted to, thank you very much.
"Or maybe all it did was take away your self control," Peter tossed back, knowing that she'd hear him at this point even if she didn't think she would. "Because it looks like I've gotten under your skin and I barely did anything this time. Tsk Tsk."
She fumed at his words, but refused to dig herself deeper by responding. The rain seems to pick up which makes her even angrier; because of course she didn’t think to grab the umbrella.
Luckily the taxi came by soon and getting in she gave the driver the address. She checked her phone, surprised to see there were no texts from Stiles, or anyone else actually. She’d have thought Stiles would’ve told everyone about what she’d done during the phone call, working them into a sort of Peter-frenzy.
Except apparently not.
Well she was fine with that then.
She paid the driver with some cash she’d taken from Peter and walked into the store. Grabbing a grocery cart she started browsing.
It was really just the sort of mind-numbingly mundane thing she wanted at the moment, she didn’t really need to focus all that much on it, so her thoughts could batter against each other and toss up new ideas.
The main one being why the ******** did she kiss Peter Hale‽ Sure some of it could probably be blamed on the water, she’d long ago found that she had poor impulse control when she was drunk. But really that was a pretty bare reason. Especially considering she’d just finished dealing with an incubus that had taken Peter’s form.
And maybe it’s a good thing she’s alone, there’s no Peter to tease her about what’s probably her rapidly changing scent.
Finally finishing her shopping she takes it up to the checkouts and pays for everything; groaning in annoyance at the piles of bags she’s going to have to carry to the taxi she’d just called.
At least it’d stopped raining, she thought as she got the last bag outside. There were a few people coming down the street, they looked like tourists. “Excuse me ma’am?”
She turned her attention to them. “Yes?”
There are footsteps behind her, and a car pulled up to the curb as a cloth settled across her mouth. <******** SERIOUSLY‽ Her world goes black.
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Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2015 5:16 pm
April 29th, 2013
Consciousness returned to Lydia slowly, in bits and pieces and accompanied by a disconnected, cotton-headed feeling. She tried to groan, except her throat was sandpaper dry; then she tried to move, only to find herself unable to do so.
Opening her eyes felt like lifting two hundred pound weights, and she quickly slammed them shut again when glaring brightness seared her pupils.
Slowly she worked her way up to squinting, taking no shame in babying her eyes. Even squinting though she can at least look around. But it still takes her muzzy mind—she must be drugged up—a minute or two to realize she was in a cage.
Despite realizing that she found herself unable to get truly scared—she must be really drugged up. The warehouse like space beyond the cage is empty at the moment, and Lydia started to try and work past the drugs. Despite the fact the disconnection felt vaguely nice it was no way to go through life.
Sorry, so sorry. Now you must suffer so.
Even in her current state Lydia managed to work up a shiver at the ominous words.
Somehow working up the courage Lydia opened her eyes all the way again. The light still stung, but it felt more manageable this time. She tried to swallow, but even her mouth felt bone dry.
Her eyes fully open revealed that she was alone, but that there were plenty of cages around her.
Looking down at herself she saw nylon rope binding her hands and feet together, a lead line connecting them to the bars of the cage. If she were more in control of herself she’d be more humiliated and scared, as it stood she can only work up minor annoyance.
Hunger and thirst became distant sensations, ones that she was certain she should satisfy; but couldn’t work up the effort to really care about.
They come! Sorry, so sorry.
Shortly after the warning Lydia heard footsteps, and she managed to turn her attention to the door.
Three men entered, all of them looking vaguely military. Two of them went up some stairs and into what might have been an office. The third approached her. “So you’re awake huh? That’s good.” He leered a little, not that Lydia can feel real fear right now. “You’re worth plenty more alive than dead.” He cocked his head, seemingly stymied by her lack of response.
“What? Can’t talk still?” He shook his head. “Bet you’re real thirsty. Paralyzing the vocal chords tends to do that.” He laughed like he told the best joke, but inside Lydia felt some actual terror; she didn’t doubt that it was temporary, but being without her voice even for a few hours would be hell.
“Hey George!” The man called up to the potential office.
One of the other men stuck his head out a small window. “What?”
“Should we feed and water her?” The way the man says it made Lydia start to feel like she was nothing more than a plant.
George seemed to think on it for a second. “One of those protein shakes. Don’t untie her, we don’t know what she’s capable of.”
If she were in her right mind she’d probably roll her eyes. Then again she knew plenty of people who were more than they seemed, so maybe the men’s caution was a good thing; for them at least.
Three left, walking behind her; if she could turn she would have followed him, as it was she was stuck staring at the wall and that window.
Always with that infernal book.
Her unseen companion sounded derisive instead of scared for a change. So much suffering brought about by so little.
Lydia found she’d actually like to experience confusion for a change.
Footsteps behind her told her Three was returning, and soon she found a can with a straw in it being thrust into her hands.
Her drugged body fumbled, sending some of the shake spilling out. Three laughed.
Getting as good a hold as she could she brought it up to her face and drank.
And found herself wishing she was with Peter.
______________________________
Peter wasn't having the best of days either. Granted it wasn't exactly as bad as Lydia’s, but it was a whole type really. When Lydia had left he had been sure that she'd trudge through the mud and rain a bit before growing frustrated. Then she'd end up right back at the cottage—or so he would have thought. But no, something had gone terribly awry. The tension in the air had been practically tangible but it had been quiet. Too late had he realized that it hadn't been just quiet—it had been the quiet before the storm. Right on the edge of his hearing, shortened considering the sound of the rain, he had picked up the struggle. By the time he'd gotten to the muddy area she'd been abducted from it was too late to do anything and the worst part of it all was that the rain washed away all the scents.
Which meant that what he had to go on was limited—tire marks, a vague sense of a direction, the heightened emotion that she'd left behind in their fresh bond (not that she knew of it), and an estimated time.
There was also innkeeper to deal with, more so now than before. It wasn't hard to find them; simply asking a very trusting shopkeeper where they lived did the job. Of course that was after alluding to the fact that he was an american historian who had a fascination for post edwardian but pre-World War II architecture, whom also had money to throw around on restoration or renovation. The last part was certainly true enough but it wasn't the inn he was interested on spending money to restore. He was, however, very interested to find out where the innkeeper lived. When he got to their townhouse, his desire to go see them felt justified. They had this air of congradulations about themselves even as they welcomed him into the house.
"I felt very disappointed to see the building catch fire," Peter started out politely, taking the water with lemon.
They had offered the tea they had brewing but tea, even with his nose, was a lot easier to hide things in. He wasn't in the habit of taking things from people who had made an attempt on his life. Well, outside of Derek. Fair was fair—he had deserved that one for what he had done to their family in his quest to avenge them.
"Oh, my husband and I were too. We're trying to pull together the sum to fix it up."
Peter nodded. In the game of business, hunting or otherwise, it wasn't always the best move to be so eager. Patience was a move that was almost always rewarded. He should know, he had waited years plotting and he had lived long enough to see those plans finished. Sure, just barely, but that was all he had wanted at the time. This life is where he had the time to plan out better, less bloodied things. Of course that meant getting Lydia back first and that would definitely put some more blood on his hands. oh well. He'd just have to remember to pick up an extra handkerchief.
"Is your husband here?" Peter said, standing up as though he needed to make another person's acquaintance.
"No. He's away with some family."
The nervousness in her gaze started to seep in her scent. He'd give her one thing though, her heart beat stayed steady. It wasn't a lie but she was trying to avoid the truth. Peter made a casual 'ah' as he moved around the room, drawing the blinds down before turning to face her. The woman had stood up as well. Now her heart had a tick upwards in fear. Good.
"Let's dispose of the pleasantries. I know what you are," Peter said in a slow, deliberate tone. "And you, your husband, and whoever you are consorting with have taken something of mine."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Peter held up his claws finger, waving it back and forth at her with a disappointed 'tsking' sound. "Let's try this again. You tell me where they've taken Lydia—"
"Who?"
Peter rolled his eyes as he lowered his hand. "My banshee. Don't insult me by saying 'who' again. It won't end well for you."
His eyes flashed red for the briefest of seconds and he heard the woman before him gasp. She gripped the chair and started backwards. Before she had time to get the shotgun hidden under the lip of the staircase, he smelled the wolfsbane and blackpowder the moment he'd walked into the house, Peter grabbed her by the neck from behind. He held her up with her head pressed between the bars, her fingers just out of reach for the latch of the hidden shotgun to torment her.
The scent of her blood slowly filled the air as his claws pricked her skin, slowly cutting off her wind. When she started to choke, Peter threw her into the side of the couch. That was a bruise she wasn't soon to forget.
"Let's try this again. And this time, try being honest with me."
"Why? You're a monster!" the woman spat out.
Sticks and stones; not that Peter exactly cared. In fact, her words only made him smile. His fangs stuck out of his mouth as he laughed.
"Oh, I can be much worse. For instance, your son is still at that shop working half time right? He'll probably be home for lunch. I can show you just how much of a monster I can be if this doesn't go quick enough for my tastes."
He'd give her one thing—she tried to put on a brave face. But she wasn't a hardened hunter like the Argents. More than likely she was just a woman who's family had gotten caught up in this ring under some religious mumbo-jumbo. But she was a hunter none the less. And seeing as how she and her husband had just crossed him he was going to treat her as such.
"Don't you touch him!"
"Then talk and I'll leave before he gets back. He'll never even have to see me or know I was here."
That much was true. No one would know that it was Peter Hale who had visited the woman. What name had he given that person again? Oh well, not that it was important.
"Never!"
Well that was a foolish move. Peter moved forward and picked her up. This time by her arm. She slapped him across the cheek and turned his head but by the time he turned back, even the red had disappeared from his skin.
Peter continued to pick her up until she couldn't touched the ground. Her legs kicked out as she tried to fight him but he wasn't letting go. He squeezed tighter and tighter, hearing the bones creak underneath his hand. Her sounds of pain were morbidly satisfying at the moment.
"Never comes much sooner than expected under torture," Peter said grimly as he finally broke her wrist and dropped her body to the ground.
"You wouldn't!"
It was almost refreshing that someone thought he wasn't capable of such evils. Almost. Right now he had bigger things on his plate than to feel refreshed.
"Tick tock. You son is on the way home. Singing...yankee-doodle?" Peter shook his head disappointed even as the woman's mouth dropped open while panic set in her eyes. "He needs better taste in music."
"I don't know!"
Peter raised an eyebrow as he looked down at her shaking form. "Don't know what?"
"I...I don't know where they are," the panic was shaking her voice.
Peter bent down and smiled sinisterly. "But I bet you that you know who does."
She looked away. A moment of loyalty probably clearing her understanding of the situation. He couldn't exactly have that now could he? Peter curled a finger under her chin and directed her attention back to him.
"Thirty...twenty-nine…" his voice, counting the seconds till her son got to the door, was a haunting promise of violence.
"George O'Donoghue. I swear that's all I know, please."
Peter nodded gently. He kept his promises. Her son would never have to know that he was there. But he never promised anything other than that so it really shouldn't have come quite as big of a surprise when his claws tore through the woman's throat. Not worrying about retaliation as he strode out the backdoor, Peter started cleaning his fingers with the soft white cloth that he pulled out his pocket. The previously innkeeping woman would bleed out in her son's arms before any help would be able to get there.
______________________________
Some of Lydia’s drugged state had worn off in the hours since she’d finally woken up. But she still couldn’t speak, and she found it was starting to drive her into real panic.
George, Two, and Three had come and gone; Two was here at the moment, while Three and George had gone and left. While Three had seemed to enjoy talking at her and taunting her Two had spent most of his time up in the office, watching TV if the faint sounds she could hear were correct.
The only thing worse than not being able to talk was the boredom. There was nothing to do and it wasn’t as if she could get up and at least stretch.
Doors banged open and Three appeared. “Charlie! Get your a** down here! Bring the prods!” Three vanished back into the hallway.
Grumbling Two-Charlie came out into the main floor, cattle-prods in his hands.
Silence, she hadn’t even heard her bodiless companion in a while, then a cacophony of noise as something was forced down the hallway by Lydia’s captors.
Her three captors stood around a skinny looking man with a bag over his head, he looked hurt, seriously even, and certainly ill-kept; but from the way his wounds seemed to be bleeding less and less, and the way he snarled and moved his head Lydia was willing to bet it was a werewolf.
Which could either be good or bad considering her own werewolf connections.
Luckily the men didn’t drive the werewolf directly towards her cell, but one close. Of course she couldn’t talk to him, but that didn’t mean she could find things out.
Three jabbed the werewolf with his prod, filling the room with the scent of singed flesh—Lydia gagged—as they corralled him into the cell next to hers.
Charlie and Three kept their prods on the werewolf while George reached in and yanked the hood off.
If Lydia could gasp she would. Because the werewolf looked disturbingly like Stiles. The only real difference was the slightly darker skin tone, and the glowing blue eyes.
Their captors darted away and the wolf was against the bars that connected their cages in an instant, snarling and attempting to swipe at her. It was probably sheer dumb luck that she was just barely out of reach.
Still she jumped and attempted to scoot further away, causing their captors to laugh. “Careful girlie,” George smirked. “That one’s a real rabid dog.”
The men walked off again, leaving her with the omega—and it had to be an omega, a beta wouldn’t be rabid. Who stared and snarled at her, no sign of humanity in it’s eyes. Well there went her hopes of getting information from him.
Always the same. Wolves to fight and others to sell.
Well she’d guessed that. Overall whomever was speaking to her was not exactly helpful so far, then again Lydia had pretty much learned that was the norm for incorporeal voices.
The not!Stiles wolf snarled and rattled the bars with the force it exerted trying to reach her. The ridges around the eyes, like all other werewolves, slowly appeared as whatever drug they gave it wore off. Or maybe it was the lessening pain from the healing wound. Obviously not made from an alpha as the time to heal wasn't that slow, but it was made by another werewolf. Or at least something with the same claw pattern.
Rattle after rattle the omega rocked the cage. The cages started to tip and the beast got within an inch of reaching her right as George and Charlie walked back in. They both had a cattle prods in hand but Charlie came in with what looked to be a metallic bed pan. It's purpose was ambiguous until they slipped it into her cage, making it more than obvious that she was going to be there a while. Then they moved on to prod the other werewolf away from her. She was, after all, worth more to them alive than dead after all.
Still embarrassment chased her as she realized she’d basically be doing her business in front of someone else. God, could her day get any worse?
Three returned, actual food in his hands.
Lydia felt relief for all of two seconds until she watched him toss a rare steak into the omega’s cage. He then stopped in front of her cage. Dropping an apple on the ground he kicked it towards her, then tossed her a steak as well. At least it was cooked, although it wasn’t as if Lydia could eat it.
“Enjoy your dinner ducks. See you in the morning!”
She wanted to scream so loud she exploded his eyeballs.
Picking up the apple she glanced at the omega, who was once again at the boundary between their cages, salivating at her. His rare steak was already gone. And on an impulse she tossed him her cooked one; she at least hoped it would create some sort of association and if he got loose he wouldn’t slaughter her too.
Rubbing off the dirt from the apple she ate slowly, trying to make it last as long as she could.
Which wasn’t very long at all.
Soon it started to get dark in the warehouse, their captors hadn’t left the lights on and it was obviously turning to nightfall outside.
Deciding she might as well she closed her eyes and attempted to go to sleep.
Which was apparently not in the cards because about thirty minutes later not!Stiles began howling.
Lydia couldn’t even move her arms enough to cover her ears. And she rapidly blinked back tears; she just wanted to go home.
Unfortunetly, Lydia's wish went unanswered for that night and something even worse was thrown into the mix. As the werewolf continued to howl, an ear piercing alarm went off. The sound sharp and clear, unable to be escaped even if someone put their hands over their ears. It buckled the werewolf and it's howls of desperation and anger turned to that of pain. Not that it would have been any more forgiving on a Banshee's ears…
And it went off every hour on the hour until the sun rose.
______________________________
Before the dawn reemerged, however, Peter had a very eventful night. He'd listened as the local authorities carted the Innkeeper's body out of her own house. Not that she was much of an innkeeper at this time but that was besides the point. The point was that after he was sure that her little brat was tied up and the husband was called, Peter got back to work.
He'd gotten into the small single room building, if one didn't count the bathroom, that served as the town hall and elected official's office. It was undoubtedly built from an old parish or something of that nature because the windows still had christian influences in their decorative colored panels. Not to mention the vaulted ceilings with their strong support beams. At the back of the long room was a set of file cabinets that he broke open one right after the other. Before touching any of the folders, however, Peter pulled on thin leather gloves. He wasn't a fan of the feeling of his fingers being constrained but it was better this way because leather didn't leave fingerprints for hunters (or local authorities) to trace. He wasn't concerned with anything else because the simple truth was that if a hair was left at the scene it would test out as a wolf's just as it always did which would confuse the humans. With no humanoid figure to link it to, even hunters would be at a loss. So he'd taken the file just as peacefully as he'd walked into the building. Couldn't have the security system, or what posed as one, finding him before he found out who George O'Donoghue was and where he lived.
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Vicious Madam Mari Captain
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Vicious Madam Mari Captain
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Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2015 5:17 pm
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Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2015 5:18 pm
May 1st, 2013
When the morning came, Peter was the first one to wake up. And he did so rather uncomfortable with the situation. His arm was underneath Lydia's head and at some point they had slipped to laying down on the ground. The other one was wrapped around some part of her torso and his legs trapping Lydia's between his, keeping them off the ground and as warm as could be. The reason he was uncomfortable was because it was actually very comfortable and that felt wrong. When things felt too easy or nice it meant that bad things were coming.
Lydia still felt chilly, but not as bad as last night; seemed that trope about huddling for warmth was true…
Opening her eyes, she also opened her mouth attempting to speak, her throat vibrated and a humming groan came out, but no actual words. Damn.
"Well you didn't die last night," Peter remarked in an understated jovial tone.
She rolled her eyes and bared her teeth at him, for lack of anything else she could do.
"Careful with that, sweetheart," Peter said, poking fun at her actions. "Didn't Aiden teach you anything about werewolves?"
Her head shook sharply, of course Aiden didn’t, because Aiden hadn’t been interested in her beyond sex really. Though really it wasn’t all that hard to pick up wolf behavior in general.
"Teeth are signs of aggressive behavior," Peter started off before smirking
She bared her teeth again, because obviously. Even if you knew the bare minimum about mammals you knew that.
"...unless you're talking about sex," he continued on, "then it's affectionate. And tell me Lydia, what does this seem more like to you at the moment?"
If she could talk this would be a whole lot easier. Because sex obviously, but at the moment she wasn’t exactly in the mood. Then again part of her was tired of pretending she wasn’t at least a little attracted to him.
"Keep your teeth to yourself and I'll do the same."
Exhaling noisily through her nose she shrugged. Whatever. Now how best to tell him she just wanted to go someplace warm and eat her weight in fruit salad and chocolate? Especially considering her hands were still basically trapped to her sides thanks to the jacket...
Peter was mollyfied with her lack of actual resistance to his words. He'd have to remember that she was much easier to work with then she couldn't sass back at him. At the same time, however, her lack of sass was disturbing. It wasn't the strong Lydia Martin that he knew.
He didn't even try to hide the fact that her weight or any resistance she might have given went unnoticed as he sat up. And then stood up, though he did wait a little bit to make sure she could get to her own feet. It did mean that without heels the top of her head barely poked out of the top of the jacket. Oh well, not like she hadn't been crying into his chest off and on over the long night as it was. Not that he was going to say anything. Even he wasn't that heart—cruel. Yeah, cruel.
She managed an ‘eep’ as Peter stood and she slid down. Her vision going dark as her head vanished into the jacket. Shifting her arm she reached out and jabbed him in the belly.
Peter looked down at her with a slightly disgruntled expression, not that she could see it, before clearing his throat loudly.
She tilted her head up as far as she could, which got her about some of Peter’s head, and glared at him again, what?
"Are you done feeling me up so we can find some reasonable way to make it back to civilization?" Peter asked in a sassy tone.
A growl escaped her, hey sounds other than groans! Then she jabbed him again. Obviously she wanted to get back to civilization, hot showers were singing her name.
"More poking," Peter tossed back cockily, hey he never lost that quality. Even death couldn't take it from him. "Feel something you like?"
This man...of course she couldn’t step away because of the jacket. This was not conducive to speaking, not that she could speak. So she did take the one step back she could and jerked on the hem of the jacket, hoping he got her point.
Oh, he knew exactly what she wanted. But was he nice enough to give it to her? Not exactly. Peter unbuttoned and zipped his jacket and then stepped back quickly to leave Lydia out in the cold. With a smirk on his face, he started to teasingly to zip the jacket back up.
Wrapping her arms around herself she bared her teeth again, b*****d. So deciding to get little revenge she took a few more steps back, then ran at Peter, leaping onto him and clinging tight.
With a sigh, Peter indulged by not flinging her away. He did, however take it back to the ground and hovered over her with teeth bared but only barely. And to avoid her skull cracking to the ground, his hand cushioned the fall. Only he disguised it with his claws tapping the soft flesh of her jaw and neck.
"What were you thinking that would get you?"
Despite the claws at her throat and Peter looming above her Lydia wasn’t afraid. She tilted her chin up a little higher in a challenging manner. It wasn’t as if she could speak after all. So she gave a derisive snort instead. He didn’t really scare her all that much anymore.
"Asking for forgiveness already Lydia?" Peter drawled out.
Oh please, she rolled her eyes. What did she have to ask forgiveness about? Clearly Peter was the ‘bad guy’ in this situation.
"Little girl you run with wolves and you have no idea. Then again, Scott's mentally retarded so it's no wonder," Peter mused as he stood up slowly.
Then again, most werewolves had humanized themselves far too much. Most animalistic traits had been ignored. Peter ignored them too, most of the time. They were a hassle in modern society. But bringing it up to Tease Lydia with was amusing.
Peter was clearly forgetting about her, and what she was. She had no problem keeping up with wolves. And when he stood he hauled her up again as well considering she was still clinging to him.
He stared down at her with a raised eyebrow. The little girl (yes, Peter, that helped to think about her like a little girl) was still clinging to him. What was he doing wrong? Why wouldn't she just...go back to being afraid?
She just stared right back, she was cold, hungry, and basically naked. She wasn’t going to let go of Peter anytime soon.
Staring at her like she'd broken part of her brain, Peter started to peel her hands away from his jacket so he could move back. Or at least he tried peeling her hands away without hurting her. Too bad for him, Lydia was a stubborn one.
Her nails dug into his jacket when she realized what he was doing, she wasn’t going to let go, or let herself get peeled off. Peter was hot...temperature wise…
"Look. The sooner you let go, the sooner we get to find a town. There has to be some place in the Scottish Highlands where we both can get cleaned up and a change of clothes."
It seemed logical to him. But then again, he wasn't the one having issues with the cold. And he was the one who still had a his jacket, boots, and a pair of pants on.
She glared at him, "Peter..." her voice grated and was clearly rusty with disuse. But she could speak again! Kind of.
But seriously, he thought she was going to let go and walk barefoot in her underwear for who knew how far in the chilly air? He seriously had another think coming.
"Lydia," Peter said in a like tone.
What the hell was it going to take for him to understand?
"I’m...cold..." Her voice sounded a bit like nails over chalkboards, but it was better than silence.
"And what do you expect me to do? Wrap you in a hug the entire way?" Peter asked in an offhanded, somewhat sarcastic tone.
He might care enough to have saved her. He might have even cared enough to make sure she wasn't freezing while she slept. But Peter wasn't exactly practiced at the full range of domestics. In fact, outside of Cora when she was a kid he had avoided the whole family role all together.
A harsh bark of laughter left her. "Piggyback," because despite the fact that walking circulated blood, she was far too underdressed for it to actually keep her warm.
The more they argued at this point, the longer it was going to take to find a nice place to clean up. There was also the fact that she would slow them both down. Even without the wounds on her legs, lydia still had plenty of bruises. With a sigh, Peter unzipped the jacket he had just put back on. He was taking off far too many clothes lately in his opinion. Especially this jacket.
Realizing what that sigh meant Lydia scrambled down, just in time to avoid getting yanked off with the jacket. Holding the jacket in one hand, Peter turned his bare back towards her and waited for her to do her part. She quickly scrambled back on, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, and looping one arm around his chest and the other around his neck. "Okay."
The jacket went right back on around them and she would get to look like the abnormally large and ginger growth on his back. He planned to keep his hands just where they were until Lydia couldn't keep herself up anymore. If this was going to happen he was going to ensure that she pulled her weight for as long as she possibly could. From his interactions with her so far, Peter knew she had matured enough to have a small amount of muscle tone on her body - it was almost annoying the fact that she was shaping up to be adequate if not more so in every category of life.
With barely a warning, Peter pushed off from the small ravine where they had camped overnight back onto the grassy area above. A squeak left Lydia as Peter began moving, her grip tightening even more so she didn’t slide down; because apparently Peter was five and didn’t want to support her.
Unlike their home base in Ireland, the highlands of Scotland weren't as heavily treed. Then again, the small town they'd been staying at in Ireland still had an abnormal amount of large foliage for the region.
Despite Peter’s speed bringing tears to her eyes from the wind and cold she still managed to see a lot. Blinking back tears she watched as they passed hills and what were probably small mountains. All of it covered in bright flowers and greenery; and at least it wasn’t raining.
Still since Peter seemed intent on getting wherever they were headed ASAP, there wasn’t all that much to see. The longer they traveled the more focused Lydia became on not sliding off Peter. Peter waited till the absolute last minute when he could feel the muscles in her legs completely slacken, unable to even twitch and bunch under strain, unable to hold her weight to his body anymore. Only then did he lower his sleeved arms to grab her knees and hold her up, raising the jacket up in the process. Lydia’s body sighed in relief when Peter’s arms slid under her knees, one less thing to worry about. It looked silly, more than silly really, but he was just going to have to ignore it and push on with the thought of a nice warm shower and bed.
Oh, and maybe getting her a dress or something. She might only be human but there was a reason why interbreeding happened numerous times, a reason why most werewolves knew the heartache (he denied that idea for himself but there was a lack of a better term) of human relationships. Humans were still very appealing to the physical senses when they lived their life right. Unfortunately for Peter, Lydia tended to like to be the best in every fashion of her life. And he was just ignoring that in favor of the fact that she was still a child. Child...child...child.
Lydia nearly asked if they were there yes, whether to be annoying or out of genuine curiosity she’d leave up to Peter; but she decided against it, instead wanting to save her voice for something actually important. So she blinked back more tears, then promptly buried her face in between his shoulder blades, because while the rest of her was warm-ish her face felt freezing. She’d be so happy to have clothes again, she didn’t even care that they might be Peter's, that’s how much she wanted them.
When Peter started to smell and hear the tell-tell signs of a town being close by, he started to slow down. There was also the fact that he was getting tired as well after running for most of the day. Sun up to an hour or two before dusk would do that - even to a werewolf. then there was the fact that humans might start passing by at any moment and he was not, unlike Lydia, stupid enough to risk exposure. Then again her screams were rather involuntary at this point but it helped him to mentally cope if he thought it was all her fault. The more distance he could put between them mentally, the better. Although considering that the pack bond would help him physically...it was rather counter productive. Peter was a complicated man in a very simple way.
"Are we...there yet?" Yes she’d wanted to save her voice, but that had been hours ago, right now all she wanted was food, and clothes, and a hot shower. The same things she’d wanted when Peter first broke her out. And maybe when she’d actually recovered some she could start looking at that book.
Peter stopped for a moment. Well...he could answer her or..."Why don't you figure that out for yourself? Close your eyes and listen. There's a stream about half a mile up ahead, judge it from that."
The tone he used was instructional, business like but not unkind. At least with Lydia she got to pick and choose when she wanted to hear things better than a human. All it took was a little concentration on her part and a lot of practice. The fact that Scott had never tried to help her get a hang of her hearing was deplorable.
So what if Scott had been worrying about some huntress who had his heart? She had left him, he should have gotten over it already. And now she was dead with no soul to speak of anymore. Scott should have focused on more important things - like making his pack stronger. He hadn't which was probably why they, Peter and Lydia, were currently in this mess. And if Peter had his way, he was not about to risk his life on Scott's ability at this point. He just had to figure out the best way to keep that fact from Lydia. She was a smart girl and he didn't want to hand her any more of those puzzle pieces.
With an aggravated sigh Lydia closed her eyes. Peter kept saying she could do all these things without ever really explaining ‘why’ or ‘how’. It wasn’t as if she had manual for how her banshee powers were supposed to work, it was all just fumbling in the dark for her.
Still she focused as best she could, trying to push past the insistent beating of Peter’s heart and the sound of him breathing towards this stream he said was nearby.
Though how a stream was supposed to tell her how close they were to civilization was beyond her.
None the less she soon heard the stream, though to her ears it sounded more like a creek or a small river than a ‘stream’. The sound of it filled her ears, until it just became another white noise.
A strange ‘vroom-wosh’ sound, as well as splashing reached her ears, but she couldn’t tell exactly what was making said sounds. Coming back to herself was harder than going out, and she felt a little at loose ends when she did so. "So I heard some strange sounds Peter," she croaked out. "How does that help exactly?"
Now that she thought about it she’d probably like Peter more if he’d actually give up some straight answers.
"If you know what certain sounds are and can judge the strength of them based on knowing how far you can hear and how loud they are on an average basis, then you can judge the distance. If you can use that to help position other sounds into a mental map then you have a comparison for how far other lesser known sounds are away from you. The more you use your hearing, the more accurate you will get," Peter answered easily; it benefited him for her to know how to use her senses.
"Alright, fine." Lydia huffed. "But it’s not as if I’ve been collecting sounds my whole life to compare what I’m hearing right now too." But she guessed it would be something to keep in mind. But right now it most definitely wasn’t the focus of her attention. "Look I’d love to learn more, but can we do it when I’m not frozen, or hungry?" By the end of her tirade her voice had gone hoarse from use, complaining about all the use.
"You'd never learn to function under stressful conditions if you waited until you were comfortable," the werewolf said in a slow tone as though explaining to a child.
Even though he couldn’t see it she rolled her eyes, wishing she could make an aggravated sigh. "Yeah, well," she croaked. "Not exactly fun to learn in stressful conditions, considering I’d rather survive with all of my body parts intact." If she lost a toe because Peter wanted to have a ‘teaching moment’ she was going to bite his head off.
"You're fine," Peter said brushing it off. He could feel how cold she was and while it was chilled, Lydia was in no danger of freezing despite what the Californian raised teenager thought. "Now focus."
"Says the space heater," she grumbled. "And trust me Peter I can’t hear anything besides the stream and some weird splashing sound."
"That would be the windmill," Peter filled in. "Try hearing past that. It's like letting your mind wander to the bigger picture. Once you understand that sound, start focusing on everything else around it till you get something else familiar."
Oh, my God. "If I do this will you shut up and get us into a freaking town?" She just wants to feel like a Goddamn person again.
"If you had done it the first time we wouldn't have wasted all this time arguing in the first place, now would we?" Peter tossed back at her.
She snarled, which managed to sound quite impressive to her ears thanks to her still recovering throat. But she closed her eyes and listened. The pretty-sure-not-a-stream, the windmill, a familiar doppler wosh that Lydia was pretty sure was a car. Which at least meant they were close to a road.
In the grand scheme of things she’d probably say she followed the sound of the car, but she’s not quite sure that was what actually happened? Thinking about it made her head hurt so she moved on.
But eventually she thinks she did hear a town, or at least people talking, and more cars.
And again ‘returning’ to herself felt harder than it should have been, like all her mind wanted to do was escape and listen to everything it could. "There. I found the stupid freaking town. I’ve got no idea where it is, or how far away it is. But I found it."
"Good enough," he said calmly. She'd get the hang of it after a few times.
Peter squeezed her knees with his hands slightly before starting for the town. Lydia starts at the touch, not expecting it, but at least they’re moving again. The hills slowly turned smaller and roads started to criss cross through the environment. Soon the town came into view. First with one or two houses, then with a small neighborhood until the full town couldn't be ignored. Of course, given that it was a 'beautiful' day outside there were plenty of people to look extremely confused as Peter carried Lydia to the closest shop he could find that sold any type of clothing.
Sure they were at a clothing store but: "You know I can’t go in there like this right?"
"There's a changing room in the back," Peter said in a mentally exhausted, or maybe fed up who knows.
Calling it a changing room would be generous. It was more like a corner which had been sectioned off with a sheet. It would, however, provide cover while he grabbed her something to wear. The store was small, like a family boutique, so there weren't that many choices compared to even the smallest chain store but at least most of the choices seemed to be built for the environment they were currently in.
Lydia grit her teeth, "fine. Be quick then." She decided not poke fun at him for fashion choices, because that would just take more time than she wanted to waste right now.
Peter slowly let his hands slide off of her knees so she could fall and slip out of the jacket herself. No doubt the sight of them was why the shop girl was coming over. It wasn't exactly the best image that they presented. Especially as Lydia was still bruised up. He already heard someone else starting to speculate over if they should call the authorities or not.
Raising her chin Lydia met the eyes of the clerk as she strode to the changing room, daring her to say anything about Lydia’s state of dress and bruises. Even if Lydia was deathly embarrassed inside, she damn well wasn’t going to show it on the outside. The second she got into the stall she closed the curtain and sat on the tiny bench, hoping Peter picked out something soon.
He sorted through the different sweaters, feeling their texture and moving on to the softest one he could find. It would be less abrasive against her skin. Although he wouldn't tell her that he took all that time to look for her clothes; let her think he took forever to find that singular V neck (well...cardigan that could function as a shirt) in the place. Next was a long skirt which had a soft waistband. It was from the tiny maternity section of the store but it would be better than anything else in the store. He paired that off with some silk stalkings, a bit of a vine print on them, and the only form of shoes that they had in the store that would fit her, maryjane flats. Then it was on to delivering the four items to Lydia to put on.
When Peter’s hands slid through the curtain she nearly jumped, her heart beating faster. Chiding herself for being ridiculous—though considering what she’d been through she should be fine with it—she took the clothes and inspected them.
The top and the shoes and tights were alright but..."A long skirt Peter?" She hissed, knowing he could hear her. "I’ll look absurd." Long skirts did not fit her body.
"Unless you wanted to cuddle all day, sweetheart, you need something to actually keep you warm. We aren't in California if you haven't noticed," Peter sassed back at her.
"Then find me some freaking jeans." Anything would be better than the stupid skirt, and here she’d been thinking Peter had taste; the last time they went shopping must have been a fluke.
Peter rolled his eyes and stepped into the dressing room without any morning, pulling the curtain closed behind him. He was not about to suffer through her hisses of pain all day just because she wanted to avoid a long skirt. Mind you he probably would have put up the same fight if it was him but…
He reached out, slowly and deliberately, and raked his fingernails against one of the bruises that traveled from hip to thigh in the shape of those metal bars. "You sure you want jeans?"
She did hiss slightly, more from surprise than actual pain. "Christ, Peter!" Sure she’d been fine with him touching her to carry her, but now it felt kind of...salacious. "My bruises don’t hurt that much." Which was the truth, the felt sore more than anything. "And anyways I can wear the tights underneath them."
Peter rolled his eyes right at the same time that the attendant came to check on them. "Are you two having problems?"
They were...just, as Peter felt, nothing that was anyone else's business. So he stepped out without arguing and gave the shopgirl a pointed look. Though that might have reinforced the idea that he was an abuser...which he was...but again, nothing that was anyone else's business. Besides he hadn't abused Lydia in this life and the first time was out of necessity, not out of pleasure. Now those people back at the wearhouse - those people he had hurt at his own pleasure.
The cardigan top Peter got her was stylishly oversized, in a way where she could have just worn it and the tights and have been ‘decent’, though not necessarily warm. Footsteps started approaching the changing room, but she knew they weren’t Peter’s. She found herself tensing; even if she didn’t have her banshee scream at the moment, her plain-old scream would certainly be enough to get Peter’s attention in this small shop.
Knowing that they had probably already overstayed their welcome, Peter found her a pair of jeans and delivered them; overlooking how concerning it might have been to other people that he knew her exact size of pants, even with the UK conversions, at this point.
But before the footsteps could get much closer Peter returned shoving jeans into the stall. She slowly pulled them on, she didn’t want to push herself but she knew that stretching would help the soreness, and the bruises, and managed to feel worlds better after they were buttoned up. Jeans might not usually be her prefered choice of ‘bottoms’ but she knew they had their uses.
Dressed she stepped out of the stall, it did feel a little weird to be wearing tights and mary janes—something she hadn’t worn since she was ten—but she prefers it over the skirt. "Alright, I’m ready." Now if he would only feed her.
Peter nodded and pulled out his wallet from an inside zipper pocket. He had both passports in there, knowing that they'd have to get back to Ireland sometime soon. And who was to say that the hunters wouldn't try to put down his cottage while they were away? He buried the bestiaries and all the other important documents in the forest just in case that happened. Once he paid for the clothes it was on to finding a hotel, only looking back once to make sure that Lydia was following behind him. Considering that she hadn't been able to keep up by herself anymore, there was a chance that she was going to need more help. Some part of that stroked his pride but he tried to keep that off his face and out of his mind; he still wasn't entirely sure he accomplished that.
Lydia had long ago learned that she’d never be able to actually keep up with insanely tall people, after all they were insanely tall and not at all a reasonable height. So the fact that Peter pulled ahead of her was hardly surprising. Still she felt she kept up relatively well.
The one time he looked back to check on her, there was a strange expression on his face, like his was pleased with something, though what that might be about she had no idea.
"Are you going to slow down?" She muttered. "Or am I going to have to run?"
There were a few comments that Peter could have made at that moment. Every single one of them highly inappropriate. And he was trying to move away from those thoughts anyways. It would probably take about a day or at least a good night's sleep to get back towards thinking of her as that narcissistic teenage girl he critiqued multiple times in the past.
So instead he merely slowed down so she could keep up until they got to the hotel. "Thank you," she could be grateful when Peter was nice, as far as she was concerned it was rewarding good behavior.
It wasn't as homely as the one that Lydia had first checked into. In fact, it was almost chain-like. Way above a motel 6 however, he'd passed one of those on the way. Well, not a motel 6 exactly but one of the same quality. Peter's standards were set way above that. Checking in, even for a family suite, was a lot less judgement filled than the clothes shopping and it was done fairly quickly.
There was no need in her mind to protest the separate rooms; in fact it would be nice to sleep on her own for a change. Happily she snatched the keycard from Peter’s hand and made her way up to the rooms. Opening the door to the nearer of the two rooms she walked in and just let herself fall onto the bed. "Oh God, I missed mattresses." She doesn’t even care if Peter laughed at her, she wasn’t going to let herself be ashamed for enjoying something as basic as a bed.
The first thing that Peter did was claim the master bedroom with his jacket and walked to the bathroom with the fresh shirt and pair of pants in hand. A hot shower was just what his non-existent doctor called for.
Pulling herself from the bed she stumbled to the shower, then pulled back when she realized it was already running. "I totally deserved the first shower, a**." She continued to mutter horrible things about Peter to herself—knowing full well he’d hear them (Peter was choosing to ignore her under the hot stream)—as she flipped through the room service menu.
Picking up the phone she ordered about half the menu then sat on the bed and hoped that the food got here soon. If she couldn’t bathe then she’d damn well eat.
Peter's shower was like a never ending sauna. The shower head beat down on him from all directions and he let his shoulders finally relaxed, content with the fact that Lydia wasn't going to walk in on him unlike the cottage. If there was one thing to be said for her trauma it was that at least he was going to get a little privacy. Too bad for Peter he couldn't be right all the time...not that he had to know that. And secure in the idea that she wasn't going to barge in, Peter relaxed to the point that he fell asleep standing up with his arms and chest against the wall.
Dear God, how long was Peter going to take? Her food had come and she’d basically eaten all of it—it had felt so gooood—and he still wasn’t done. Finding herself getting tired of his five-year-old antics she went up to the bathroom door and pounded on it, waking him up. "I swear to God and anything you might hold Sacred Peter Mathew Hale, if you’re not out of that shower in five minutes I’m coming in."
Peter slightly groaned as he pushed back from the now warm tile wall. Damned Banshee of a woman. Couldn't she let him have five minutes of peace? Rolling his eyes, Peter started to actually take the steps of a shower—like soap. Though he was definitely going to call her on her five minute bluff. It was a wonder there was still hot water in this place, he was definitely coming back to this place if he was ever in Scotland again.
Lydia counted off the minutes, and once she’d reached five she opened the door and went in. "Time’s up! My shower now!"
Nope. He was not giving up his territory. He had claimed the shower and he was not moving until he was done with it. Besides, he still had soap on his body at the moment.
When it became obvious that Peter wasn’t going to leave the shower any time soon, Lydia gnawed on her lip. Then deciding screw it—it wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen each other naked before—she stripped out of her new clothes and opening the shower door stepped in. Nonchalantly reaching around Peter she grabbed the shampoo.
Peter nearly had a heart attack as he froze. Can Werewolves have heart attacks? He'd been expecting for her to come in all disgruntled as normal. Maybe spout something off. Not get into the shower with him. What the hell? Where had his privacy gone?
Slathering her hands with shampoo Lydia put the bottle back on the shelf, then turned around as she lathered, much preferring to stare at the tile walls then Peter’s back...totally. Stepping out from under the showerhead, thank God this was one of those ‘showerheads everywhere’ showers, she washed her hair, intentionally humming a tune off-key. Acting like she did this every day, just to throw Peter off more.
Oh two could play at this wet game. Peter reached around Lydia, closer than he ever would need to be, to grab the shampoo off of the shelf before her, extremely slowly, before resuming to "his" side. After sleeping on the ground last night, one rinse through wouldn't cut it.
Peter’s hand drifted dangerously close to her breasts and a thrum of awareness passed through Lydia at the almost sensation, but she quickly shoved it aside; she was going to play calm and collected damnit! She nearly started belting Ke$ha right then and there, but decided to save that for later if it came to it.
Instead she turned back around and ‘bumped’ into Peter, hopefully hard enough to send him stumbling, as she grabbed a washcloth and the bar of soap. "Ooop, sorry." Faux-innocence filled her voice.
Peter did something a little evil, even for him (not really), as he turned the cold water down while compensating for the pressure with the hot. Soon the hot water was going to flood the pipes and burst out all over the shower. If she wanted to play the push-shove game in the shower with him, he was going to turn it into the kitchen and stove analogy. If it was too hot, she could just get out in other words. Meanwhile, knowing what was coming, Peter stepped into an area where there wasn't as much hot water about to spray down into the shower.
Although Peter’s plan backfired a little, considering Lydia only had her hair under the nearest shower head, the temperature change coming in loud and clear. Piling her hair up on her head in about as messy a fashion as possible Lydia lathered up the soap and stepping under the nice, hot spray started washing herself. "Mmm that feels nice, thanks."
...Peter wasn't sure what was more frustrating—pretending not to react when Derek had come to see him with Scott a while ago or the fact that his plan to get Lydia out of his shower had just backfired.
Though really if Peter was going to do something so juvenile as changing the temperature he should do it right. She just had to wait until he stepped under a showerhead again...
With an aggravated sigh, Peter went back to the conditioner stage of the shower routine. He lowered the hot water and evened the cold water back out to make the temperature just perfect.
Again the temperature change was obvious, and she nearly told him him to turn it back up; all that hot water would only do wonders to her bruised and battered body. Out of the corner of her eye she peered at Peter, well at least he seemed to be getting closer to sticking his head under the spray. As subtly as she could she inched towards the faucet.
One thing Lydia was going to learn, if she learned nothing else from this trip was that unless the werewolf was highly incompetent then they were hard to sneak up on, even with their eyes closed. Especially when they were already expecting some shenanigans like he was. When she tried to reach around, Peter grabbed her wrist and spun the both of them so that she was pressed against the wall, both of her hands quickly above her head as he hovered barely even an inch in front of her.
"Having fun still, Lydia?" He asked in a darkened tone, applying the barest amount of pressure with his hands to her wrists in order to emphasis his question. She bit her tongue to keep from whimpering at the sensation of his hands applying pressure to her bruised skin.
Of course at the same time her traitorous sex hormones reared their ugly heads. Wanting her to do something to fully catch his attention—though really she already had it. She had more of his attention than Peter would really admit to himself even. Ignoring them as best she could, and trying not to remember the fact that he could probably smell every tiny change in her body, she tilted her chin up in a challenging manner. "Oh I don’t know, I’m feeling a little bored actually." Who cared if it was a bald-faced lie?
"Liar," well, apparently Peter did. And he didn't look to be letting go of her wrist or backing away anytime soon. "What game do you think you're playing at here little girl? What could you possibly get that would help you?"
She bristled at the ‘little girl’ jibe. "Oh I don’t know Peter. Maybe getting clean? Feeling like a human being again instead of a captive who was about to become some rich b*****d’s play thing?"
"You could have waited. So I'll repeat myself one more time. What do you think this," the werewolf said, stepping in closer to remove even that inch between their unclothed bodies, "will get you?"
Last he checked, Lydia and her friends considered him a 'b*****d' as well. And yet here she was, playing very dangerous, though not in the harmful sense, games with him like some love or lust struck woman practically begging to become a plaything. Of course, it wasn't the exact same as the one that they had been auctioning her for but it was damned near close enough. The distinction between the situations was lost to him without the illuminating piece of her thoughts.
"Even I have my limits, Lydia, so just tell me what it is that you're after."
At this point, Peter's voice was barely a whisper as he stared down at her. It would have been easier to do if there had been space between them but right now, Peter knew that the best way to get her to be direct was to be direct with her himself. There was also the fact that the physical closeness made everything hard to see for both parties involved even if it could be felt. Besides when people were uncomfortable they had a harder time maintaining any games or lies they had going on and he knew how to use that to his advantage. Though given what he could smell from being this close to her (the water otherwise would have blocked scents out or at least masked them) as well as here, he wasn't so sure that his presence was having the same effect it used to. Though that might have had something to do with the lack of clothing on both of their parts and he knew that somewhere in the back of his mind.
"And if I said I didn’t know?" She genuinely means it, it’s not a stupid ‘playful’ challenge. She wasn’t quite sure why she didn’t just wait, except that maybe she felt sick and tired of being at the mercy of other people’s plans. She wanted to do something that was her own freak-fracking idea for a change; not influenced by anything else but her own wants.
"Then I suggest you take the time and figure that out before you do something like this again. Not everyone is as nice as I am, or as patient," Peter said before letting go of her wrists.
His eyes may have flickered down for the briefest of moments when he stepped back. Sue him, he was still alive and no one was perfect. Even he was admittedly a work in progress. Though he didn't linger as he might have in his youth, before the fire, before turning around and walking out of the shower. He grabbed the nearest towel and wrapped it around his waist to leave Lydia to her thoughts.
Lydia felt strangely sad, shaking it off as best she could she finished showering in silence. She dressed quickly, all that heat having done wonders to her sore body. For some reason she found herself standing in front of the door that would take her to Peter’s room, her hand halfway up to knock on it.
Snatching her hand back she spun around and marched herself back to her own room, where she fell onto the bed. For about two minutes she stared up at the popcorn ceiling, then closed her eyes because she just didn’t want to look at it.
"Then I suggest you take the time and figure that out..." Lydia gave herself a mental shake, Peter was an a*****e and the fact that she was even contemplating his words felt....strange, and unsettling.
Her mind began chasing itself in circles, and somehow despite all that she managed to slip into sleep. In the larger room, on the king sized bed, Peter had laid down to sleep as well. Though unlike Lydia he had taken the time to draw the curtains completely closed, making sure that no one could see through it, and he had locked both the door to the whole hotel suit, the bathroom leading into his room and the bedroom door. Just incase anyone had ideas of coming in uninvited there was enough time to wake up and act upon the threat.
Lydia lay strapped to the examination table again, tilted slightly up and on full display for any of the rich leches who wanted a look see. She was certain she’d throw up if she had any food in her stomach.
“We’ll start the bidding at five million,” Charles announced.
The computer in front of Three began pinging like mad as the bids came pouring in. The more she heard that sound the more she found herself shaking and growing cold. Please, someone save me. ******** she’d take Jennifer over these assholes, at least Jennifer had only wanted her dead.
The bids started to slow as people began dropping out. And from outside the room Lydia heard an inhuman, and familiar, roar. Peter.
Peter moved through the building, a place that was altered now compared to the first time he had been there. There were some features—burned pictures with unseen faces and buried bodies with dark hair and betrayed eyes—that had definitely not been in the warehouse. He could faintly hear something coming from the rest of the world but it was vague, unable to be understood so much as it was felt. What it felt like was Lydia and that feeling drove him through the hallways, which seemed to never end, in a form he knew that he normally couldn't sustain for long periods of time. His dark furred limbs made the strides incredibly large and the sound of his claws against the concrete something straight out of a dark fairy tale.
A door finally appeared in front of him and he wasted no time in knocking it down. Which would not have been a smart move and something that he normally wouldn't have done but it felt as though, in this moment, he barely had control of his own body. Although as soon as he was through the door, the control seemed to come back to him all at once.
Peter dodged to the side as an arrow dripping in wolfsbane sped past. The archer had a familiar posture from underneath that mercenary clothing. Chestnut hair slipped out as their head whipped to the side - the face of Kate Argent appeared through the dark.
Lydia could only feel relief at the fact Peter was there, she didn’t care, at the moment about their mutual antagonism, or everything he’d ever done to her. The fact that he apparently was willing to risk life and limb to save her was enough.
She found herself struggling against her bonds, but in her current weak and slightly drugged state it didn’t do her much good. But it distracted her from the rising feeling in her chest.
Peter's monstrous shaped head looked around quickly. The faces of these mercenaries were far too familiar for this situation. It took him a minute as his brain processed the fact that they were the faces of every person he had killed surrounded Lydia and all of them were dressed up in the nameless mercenaries he'd taken out the prior night. This was a dream…
And as soon as he realized that, Peter woke up. For Lydia it was something else entirely.
Peter freezes, like he’s just seen something he hasn’t expected, then…
He goes flying into the wall as a bullet hits his chest.
And even though Lydia shouldn’t be able to she screams. Loud and long, a mourning song for the wolf who confused her to the bitter end.
When her scream dies down Three and Charlie rise, then continue on like nothing happened. “Sorry for that gentlemen, the situation has been dealt with and bidding will continue. In case you’ve forgotten the current high bid is 15.8 million.”
But Lydia barely hears him, her eyes only for Peter, who’s shifted back to human form and shaking as the wolfsbane does it’s job. Killing him in the slowest way possible.
It shocks her to realize she’s crying.
Peter notices too, that stupid crooked smile somehow darting across his face. “Lydia…”
And like that, he’s dead.
“Congratulations bidder one-five-seven. You’re now the proud owner of your very own banshee, I hope you enjoy her.”
Three approaches her with a needle and the world goes black.
When Peter realized he was dreaming, he woke up. He could feel the strain on his body from the dream, as though he had actually started to dream it. A light layer of sweat clung to his body as he lay in bed the same way he'd come out of the shower. Sleeping in a pair of jeans had not been that appealing after all.
Swinging his legs off of the bed, Peter let out a deep sigh. He was used to having nightmares when he slept. It was just a thing he had to expect in his life at this point. What he didn't expect was for it to feel like he wasn't the only one having it. Peter turned his head ever so slightly back towards where Lydia was sleeping. From the sounds of it, Lydia was having a nightmare too. And he wouldn't put it past the situation for it to be the same dream. Which, as he knew, wasn't the healthiest of experiences....
When Lydia comes to she’s in a hospital bed, and for a brief moment she thinks it was all a horrible nightmare, that Peter got her out and took her to a hospital. Except...her throat feels strangely numb, and turning her head slightly she looks out the window to see the sun shining brightly over a butling metropolis.
“Ah good, you are awake.”
Turning her head the other way she sees a man sitting in a chair. He’s olive-skinned, with the sort of dark, twinkling, eyes you associate with grandfathers. He can’t be much older than Peter was though. Peter...She tries to say something except her throat doesn’t seem to be working…
The man reaches out and rests his hand on top of hers, she blinks realizing there’s a wedding band on her finger. “Now, now, mikrí̱ krav̱gí̱ don’t try to push yourself. You still haven’t quite recovered from the surgery.”
Ice floods her veins as she absently realizes her owner, and that’s all he could possibly be, is Greek. But all of that pales in comparison to the fact that this man probably just stole her voice, forever.
And he’s smiling at her like a loving husband looking after his wife.
The urge to scream is unbearable.
From the sounds of it, she was having a very bad nightmare. Her heart was beating erratically and her breathing labored. Her body temperature fluctuated, usually indicating a state of panic. Of course, for the most part, her body was completely still. The whole sleep paralysis thing keeping her that way. The question was: did he go in there and wake her up or let her mind work through the nightmare?
A week later and she’s been moved into her owner’s house, he introduced himself but she couldn’t be bothered to remember his name.
He gave her a cage, oh not that it looks like one. It looks like the daydream of a bedroom, large windows letting in the warm Grecian sunlight, gauzy curtains, a soft bed, closets full of all the clothes and shoes and makeup she could ever want.
But it’s still a cage.
She sits in front of the vanity mirror and looks at herself. The scar from the surgery is barely noticeable, and she’s just grateful whatever one they performed on her didn’t leave her with a soma in her throat for the rest of her life.
And then on her shoulder…
She forces herself to think about the Alpha that bit her at the hospital; how he’d agreed to do it after her owner said the man could sire a few children on her, after she’d given her owner the daughter he wanted.
May I only bear sons, she thinks viciously, hoping her body listens. There’s a knock on the door.
Peter stood up slowly. Well he wasn't going to get back to sleep tonight, that much was certain. His mind was already flooded with the images of the dreams and as they cycled they woke him up completely. Besides, the sound of Lydia's body moving on the bed as though it had just been flopped down was concerning. She wasn't supposed to be able to move in a dream...which means this had turned into a night terror. Why did that surprise him at this point?
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Vicious Madam Mari Captain
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Vicious Madam Mari Captain
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Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2015 5:19 pm
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Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2015 5:20 pm
May 2nd, 2013
It had taken two hours for Peter to come back to the room. When he did, he had two ferry tickets in hand. He'd set Lydia's down on the now empty dining table and walked to his room to make sure he had everything. Plus it had been time for another shower—he was going to miss this shower when he got home. Maybe he could have his redone.
Lydia heard Peter return over the sounds of the TV in her room. The shower coming on a minute or so later—good thing she’d already showered. She pulled her blanket closer around herself not exactly wanting to see him again, but knowing that she’d have to; at least until they got back to Beacon Hills.
And they would...soon. There was a thrumming in her bones that demanded it. Something big was going to happen soon, and she needed to be there to witness it.
When the muscles between his shoulder blades finally relaxed, Peter turned off the hot water and grabbed for a towel. As he shook it through his hair, he went to the door that separated Lydia's room from the bathroom. Obviously he wasn't going to open the door but he was pretty sure she would hear him.
"We're leaving within the hour. Be ready," he called out.
She rolled her eyes at the TV. "Sure," she muttered to herself. "Let me grab my luggage and pack it all up." She sneered.
Fine; he had tried the nice route. Now no one could say he hadn't tried. So instead he set himself to the mindset of silence. It would probably make the trip easier anyways. Moving over to his bedroom, Peter changed into the latest set of clothes he'd bought. It might have been a little petty (more than petty) but he hadn't gotten Lydia anything. After all, if she didn't appreciate his help then what was the point of giving it?
Once the hour was up, Peter knocked on Lydia's door once before moving back to head out of the hotel all together.
With a sigh she turned off the TV and left the bedroom. Not at all bothered by Peter’s silent treatment. She felt like the less they talked the better at this point, though it also meant it felt like she was stewing in all the things she hadn’t said during their fight. Wondering if there was something she could have said to make him realize just what she’d gone through because of his determination to stay alive.
Picking up her ticket she opened the door and started walking down the hall, not caring if Peter was following or not; though she knew he was. After all he’d promised her mom.
Getting to the ferry had been interesting. He had taken his normal back seat position, regardless Lydia's personal comfort and once they were on the ferry he'd left her to make her own way through the crowd as the rain started to pour down.
Lydia bared her teeth at Peter’s retreating back, half wanting to shout ‘coward’ at him; but knowing he’d probably think it a compliment. So much for ‘protecting’ her. Once on the ferry she retreated to the inside seats, preferring to stay as dry as possible. If she’d had a phone she would have done stuff on it to entertain herself throughout the trip; but as it was she found herself staring out the window at the grey and churning sea. Her own mind feeling much like the water, rough and unsteady.
One particular wave jostled her and she felt something in her jacket hit her thigh. Pulling it out she blinked at the book she’d taken from her erstwhile kidnappers. Taking it for the escape it was she opening it and started looking it over. She managed to recall without too many flashbacks that it was written in Ancient Irish. Which would definitely be a translation problem, but for now she just let herself look it over. Seeing if there was anything she could glean from the diagrams or even the text itself; she might not be able to read it, yet; but there was still stuff it could tell her.
The ride over the water and then over the land took a long time considering that they weren't that far apart. What would have taken four hours back in California ended up taking almost eight. It was a ridiculous amount of time. And it did nothing for Peter's temper; which he denied having but, judging by how he taught Derek to control himself that was far from the truth. The weather was another thing he wasn't going to miss about this section of the world because by the time they got back to the cabin there was no avoiding being soaked through.
Lydia found herself so engrossed in the book she barely even noticed when the boat docked. The Ancient Irish, though she had a strange feeling it was older than that, a language that would take even more work to translate, teased her. Giving her a hint every once in a while of what it might contain. Promising everything a banshee could want, so long as she was clever enough to work at it.
The few diagrams there were weren’t as helpful as she’d hoped, but they’d given her enough. If they were right her scream could do more than just bursts people’s eardrums, it could be used as a real weapon. She wondered if she could try it out on Peter.
Silently, Peter pulled off his jacket and tossed it over the stone fireplace. It was mildly surprising how nothing had been touched considering that there were plenty of teenagers who had ransacked the place throughout the years. As he started to unbutton the new shirt, which was mildly wet, Peter started towards the closet while continuing to ignore Lydia as he had on this whole trip. It was childish, of course, but the silence was the only way he could think of to avoid bringing up another argument.
Lydia doesn’t mind the continued silence, it just meant she could focus on the book. Even if she had to wait to translate it she was still kind of in love with it. She had to wonder if it would be useful to more than just her, like if there were things in it she could show Mike that he could use.
Her bones rattled again and she shivered, wishing it would stop. She got it already, there was something important that she needed to see; most likely back in Beacon Hills if the other niggling feeling in her mind was right. So why did it keep bothering her?
To distract herself, and to possibly get them home sooner she broke the silence. "I need a phone again." Her kidnappers had most likely destroyed her last one.
Peter opened the drawer in the closet to pull out the cell phone. He had found it in the mud when trying to go find her after she first got captured. Peter moved back through the tiny main room, new shirt in one hand and her cell phone in the other. He held out the cell phone to Lydia and waited for her to take it.
She stared at it for a few seconds, not really believing it. But she still reached out and snatched it up, much like with her passport a few hours ago. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, especially after their argument. On the one hand Peter seemed to be being nice to her without expecting anything in return—except for maybe her silence on his part of this misadventure—on the other he still didn’t seem to understand what he’d done to her, and it frustrated the hell out of her. Not to mention the whole ‘pack’ angle; it was enough to make her head hurt.
But if he was willing to be vaguely civil than so could she—she had at least that much in the way of manners. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Peter replied before going back to the closet.
He had new clothes to put on. Then it was time to pack up and get to moving out. But first time to get out of the wet clothes. So he grabbed a new change and moved to the bathroom. As much as he didn't mind walking around with the shirt, changing into a new pair of pants might cross into that awkward border even for him. Especially considering the fact that she had decided to invade his shower time the prior night. Even by his gray morals that was pushing it.
Unlocking her phone she blinked at the fact she only had one text. She’d expected at least a dozen from Stiles alone, demanding to know what had happened after their bizarre phone call, or why Peter was in Ireland with her. Maybe some from the others asking the same thing, because of course Stiles would tell them all, that’s what he did.
But no, just one measly text from Mike: It's nice to finally hear from you again! I'm glad to see that you're finally back among the land of the living. Did you enjoy your trip? Make any fun memories?
Oh yes. loads. She thought with a roll of her eyes.
She opened up a reply and typed:
So-so. And not really. On a different note do you know anyone who can read Ancient Irish or She tabbed out of texts and looked up the Irish language. Proto-Gaelic? May have at least found one good thing. Then before she could think more about it and start second guessing herself she hit the send button.
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By eight that night, the two of them had gotten to the airport. And as luck would have it, they were able to board the plane an hour later after getting their bags checked into customs. The flew back to the connect in the same manner that they'd gotten into Ireland—business class. It didn't matter how much of the quiet treatment Peter was giving Lydia, he wasn't about to let her suffer through the dregs. That would probably only make the situation worse anyways. Besides the only two tickets were for seats right next to each other in the business class regardless of preferences—that's just how life worked out sometimes.
As Peter took his seat next to the window, he was quick to get his chair leaned back and his arms crossed comfortably behind his head with his ankle crossed over his knee.
While Lydia had browsed through the book a second time while they were waiting to board, she didn’t attempt translating anything until after they took their seats. Opening up various sites she’d found that seemed reputable enough she went to the first page of the first notepad she’d bought at a shop in the airport and started writing furiously, preferring to work off that instead of her phone. She focused more on grammar, syntax, and structure than vocabulary for the moment. Those would help her understand what the book said better than a mishmash of words anyways. She found herself eyeing the two other notepad’s she’d bought, hoping she wouldn’t need more than that.
The attendant's voice called out over the system, reminding them of all the safety rules and requesting that they buckle their seat belts. The whole usual speech and 'have a nice flight' at the end included free of charge. It was the start of an eighteen hour (not including the layover time) for the both of them and Peter was pretty sure this was going to feel a lot longer than the first time.
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Vicious Madam Mari Captain
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Vicious Madam Mari Captain
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Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2015 5:21 pm
May 3rd, 2013
Considering that the layover had been much longer than the first time around, it was a longer ride. They spent twenty three hours in travel in total, eighteen of those hours on the plane. Then it was an hour by car back into Beacon Hills. All in all—it was fun for no one. By the time they got back into the town it was already eight pm local time.
"So where to now?" The taxi driver asked in a moderately friendly tone, ready to type in the navigation to find the exact address they needed.
After they got into the taxi Lydia found herself staring at the book, feeling poleaxed by what she's gotten from it so far. It's almost worth everything that's happened to her, almost.
"The condos on East Hammington road," Peter said after a moment of Lydia's silence.
At least this way they could figure out where she wanted to go after that. If she wanted to face her mom as soon as she got back she could go home right away. If not, then Peter figured that she would at least have a breather back at his apartment. Not that, he figured, it would be a welcomed option for her with how tense it had been. Then again, she had been doing research the entire time so who knows by this point. All he knew was that it felt good to be home.
Lydia started at Peter’s words, coming back into herself. She might have been partially aware of what was going on, but her real focus had been on the book. Now she looked around, seeing the familiar sights of Beacon Hills; it almost feels weird coming home, especially with everything that’d happened to her in the past week or so—Christ, only a week?
She opened her mouth to argue about the directions, except…”I don't have any children.” Blinking back tears she looked at the book. At the moment her translation was cursory at best, but she had found something brief mentions about memory loss and family lines. She hated to think that was what was happening to her mom, who was barely fifty and now didn’t remember that she had a daughter. What had her mom thought of all the pictures of Lydia in the house then? Had she thought them some cruel joke from her ex-husband?
Stubbornly Lydia turned to stare out the window, refusing to let Peter at least see her cry, he might smell it, and smell the lie when she denied it, but she’d at least know he didn’t actually see her do it.
Despite how much she wanted to go home, and how much she hated Peter at the moment, she kept her mouth shut. And so without Lydia to refute what Peter had said, the taxi driver drove them to Peter's building. It wasn't that tall, not really, considering that they were still in Northern California. Just a mere four stories; it wasn't even like they'd have to climb up stairs to get there, though that was always an option, because there was a very nice elevator sitting to the side of the lobby. It was one of the few 'apartments' in the area that had a lobby but considering that it was more like a condo structure, where people owned them like homes, that was probably why.
Getting out of the taxi, Peter instantly went to the back to collect the bags. He lifted the handle to one of the largest ones and tilted it towards Lydia in a silent 'here you go' as it was hers.
Lydia tucked all her things into the carry-on bag she’d kept with her, and when she saw Peter offering her her own suitcase a strange twist of anger curled in her. She was worlds better than him, why should she carry her own luggage? On the other hand she didn’t trust him to actually carry it up himself if she didn’t take it.
So with a haughty sniff she snatchted it out of his grasp and marched to the front door.
Peter grabbed the other bags, much to the surprise of the taxi man, after paying for the ride. He trailed behind Lydia but even with werewolf abilities that didn't mean he had an extra hand. Now if they wanted to walk through the door he could do that, but not open it up with all the extra baggage taking up room.
"I know the door is well made but if you want to go inside anytime soon to see more doors, you'll have to get the key card out. My hands are a little tied up."
Lydia rolled her eyes, really? "Or you could just set some of the suitcases down and do it yourself. You know, like a normal person."
"Being normal is drastically overrated," Peter said with a smirk of a grin.
If she knew it would do anything she’d enjoy smacking that smug expression off his face. "Where is it?" She asked waspishly.
"Back po—never mind, I'll get it," Peter said in grudging acceptance of the fact that she might have been right.
Doing her best to hold back a mean giggle she gave him a saccharine smile instead. "Afraid I’ll do irreparable harm?" It’s a damn satisfying idea actually.
"To yourself, maybe," he tossed back.
"Please, like any man would let an angry woman anywhere near his groin." Jackson had learned to avoid her like the plague when she got into one of her snits, it had actually been fun to see him jump whenever she got near him.
Peter paused as he looked at her. Were they really having this discussion?
"It's in the back pocket, Lydia, not the front. But good to know that's where your thoughts have been," Peter commented.
She snorted. "The groin’s more than just your crotch Peter."
He slowly dropped some of the bags before reaching into his back pocket to show her the cardkey. It was attached to the hard key of his personal door as well as the car that he had inherited from the will of his oh so loving nurse. He had felt it would have been rude to sell it or give it away. Once more he held out something to Lydia, waiting for her to take it, because it was the practical option. Or so he told himself.
She looked at it like it was toxic waste. "What am I, your bellhop?"
"I'm so sorry for thinking you wanted to get out of the streets quickly, princess," Peter said with a roll of his eyes.
It was like dealing with a toddler. "Fine," she snapped. "Since you’re so averse to setting things down. What? Afraid you’ll get dirty?" With her free hand she snatched it out of his; sneering at him all the while.
"When have I ever been afraid to get my hands dirty?" He asked as he waited for her to open the door while he picked the arm's worth of bags.
Once the doors were open and they made it to the elevator, Peter couldn't help feeling a little less cranky. If being back in Beacon Hills was a relief, then being so close to his own place was even better. He'd have his own bed...his own bathroom and that sounded wonderful. It wasn't just in the familiar sense of his own place, but in the fact that he didn't have to worry about propriety because of Lydia walking in on whatever he was doing.
The muzak in the elevator grated on her nerves, not that she could pinpoint exactly why it did. Gritting her teeth, she clenched her hand around the handle of her suitcase. When the doors finally opened she got out as quickly as she could; though she then had to wait for Peter to catch up to lead the way. Which didn’t improve her mood.
Of course, the fact that he was the last door probably wouldn't have helped Lydia's mood either. Not that Peter was particular fond of the idea himself at the moment, being around someone who was constantly so angry was grating. When they got to his door he set down all the bags and opened it up with the key he snatched back from her at the last moment. Pushing the door open to his two level condo with a sense of 'ta-dah', Peter waited for Lydia to step in before he moved all the bags inside as well. He sat the keys down in the bowl beside the door and closed it.
It didn’t look like he’d changed much since the last time she’d been there, not that she really cared as she happily dropped her suitcase in the hall and made her way into his kitchen, intent on eating. They’d had dinner during their layover, but that had still been hours ago. She didn’t even care if it was crackers at this point, she needed to eat something.
As Lydia made her way to his kitchen, Peter had simply moved over to the couch and kicked back. He missed his couch; that human like sentiment had slipped past his guard as he let the relaxation show on his face when he sat down. "I was planning to be gone longer. You won't find anything in the kitchen."
Well she might find half a bottle of red wine in the wine fridge that was built into the wall in the back corner of the kitchen, but Peter suspected that wasn't what she was looking for.
"If you're hungry, there is a bistro that stays open till ten in the courtyard."
Because Lydia enjoyed proving Peter wrong she unearthed a unopened box of lasagna pasta. She strode back into the living room and tore it open, taking out a sheet and snapping it in two with a loud crack. "’Anything’ huh?" Granted the pasta wasn’t exactly tasty, but she had to wait less time to eat if then if they’d gone out.
Peter tilted his head back to look at the pasta. Where had he gotten that? He couldn't even remember when he'd last made lasagna...or attempted to at least. He could cook a beautiful stake and put together a magnificent salad or even a baked potato, but pasta was somehow beyond him. It probably had something to do with how everything melted at different temperatures and waiting forty-minutes. He wasn't the most patient person when he had to cook.
"Did you pull that out of thin air just to prove me wrong?" Peter asked, his head still tilted back so he could see her.
This time she just refused to laugh because Peter didn’t need any ego stroking, let alone think she thought he was funny. "Why yes Peter, I can pull food out of nowhere," sarcasm dripped from her every word. "Or I could have just found it in the back of your pantry." She broke off another shard and started chewing.
"Enjoying yourself?" He asked as he watched her chew the dry pasta. That could not have been very tasty. "You realize, Lydia, that you could have just ordered pizza right?"
"But then I would have to wait," she pointed out in a bored tone. Why wait when she could satisfy the need now?
"Good things are worth waiting for," Peter idly drolled out as he tilted his head back to rest, closing his eyes and propping his feet up on the ottoman in front of him.
She collapsed into one of his chairs, turning so her back was propped up against one arm and her legs over the other. "And yet instant gratification is so very satisfying."
"Only in the short term," was his response.
Lydia stared at her feet for a few seconds as she chewed, then with an easy motion kicked off both her shoes—each hitting the wall with a satisfying thunk—not really understanding how she’d stood those blase flats for so long, heels were what she needed. Heels that made her legs look like they went on forever and would make even Peter Hale drool. "That has really yet to be determined." Like she would take his word for anything at the moment.
Peter's had swiveled, barely cracking one eye open, so he could see where she was. "What you doing Lydia?"
That question probably had a lot of different meanings if someone really wanted to get into it. What was she doing eating pasta? What was she doing talking about gratification? What was she doing in his chair? What was she doing staying at his place? What was she doing in life? And honestly, even Peter wasn't sure which one he'd meant right now.
She kicked her feet in the air, wondering what color she should paint her toenails. "Thinking about myself for a change," she answered lightly. It was kind of liberating actually.
"That's something you should have been doing this whole time," Peter said in a bland tone; it's what he'd been doing after all.
In a brief bout of annoyance she flicked a shard of pasta at his head. She didn’t want to be like him at all. Peter brushed it off of his face and decided that maybe she needed a few buttons pressed instead of idle conversation.
"Are you still angry at Nat?"
The pasta shard she was chewing on jabbed into her mouth and she grimaced. "Oh I don’t know Peter, why wouldn’t I? After all she straight up told me I wasn’t her daughter, that she didn’t even have one. Why wouldn’t that make me angry?" Tossing aside the pasta box she stood up and went over to her suitcase, opening it up she grabbed a pair of heels and slipped them on; they weren’t as tall as she’d like, but they’d do for now. "You’re taking me out to dinner," she told him blithely.
"I worked that out already, I was just waiting for you to realize it," Peter replied with a cocky grin.
"Good," she answered with a ‘sweet’ smile. She knew he was most likely doing it for his own reasons, but that didn’t stop the curl of pleasure from someone doing what she wanted for a change rising up. That happened far less often than it should; but she was drawing the line here.
Peter stood up off the couch and started to the door all in one movement. He picked the keys back up, ignoring the bags by the door, and looked back to Lydia with a 'come' kind of expression. It wasn't exactly demanding, though there was that too, so much as expectant. He turned back to forward facing as he opened the door before heading out of it.
Lydia had long ago perfected the art of rushing without looking like you were actually rushing; a must when everyone towered above her and tended to take larger steps. So she easily caught up to, and passed Peter, sashaying all the while.
He’d grabbed his keys, which implied they weren’t going to the bistro he’d mentioned earlier; but then again she’d rather not be made a fool, and at the moment she was far too proud to ask. So instead she slowed her step when she got outside, allowing Peter to ‘catch up’.
Of course, Peter being...well, Peter. took his time. He walked at his own pace. Normally it was a brisk one but because Lydia had sped up ahead of him, he decided now was the perfect time to see the ivory flowers laid into the cream colored walls. Which, of course, meant that she would just have to wait for him to catch up—oh darn, what a travesty.
Not bothering to hide her annoyance Lydia marched back up to Peter and snatching the keys from his hand shoved them into her cleavage and then walked right back out, starting to make her way around the block.
Peter looked at his empty hand and then at Lydia, trying to figure out if that had just happened. After a moment of confusion he decided—yes, yes it had. He didn't know if he was annoyed or amused and so the breath that forced itself out of his nose in a bit of a huff was a mixture of both. He quickened his pace to keep up with the headstrong redhead.
The sound of Peter’s footsteps moving to catch up, made her bite her lip to keep from smiling. That would teach him to keep her from waiting, though it might be fun to see how far she could push him before he started to fray.
"They’d better have good food," not that she’s ever known Peter to have poor taste; still it’s a good goad.
Peter's look was rather expressive as he turned to her, his head jerking back ever so slightly with his silent question. The whole 'who do you think I am?' kind of look spread over his face was a mixture of disbelief and more than a bit of judgemental attitude. Considering that they were walking under plenty of street lights it should have been easy for even Lydia to see.
It was starting to get really hard not to smile. Feeling the best sort of satisfaction at getting one over on Peter. Really, if this was how she felt doing it she should have started poking holes in Peter long ago. Once they'd gotten to the place in the courtyard bistro behind the condo complex, Peter absentmindedly held the door open. And then when he realized what he was doing a somewhat disturbed expression drifted over his face. Domestics with Lydia. Again. How did he fall into this trap?
His expression hardly bothers her as she swans past him, if he wants to have a crisis he’s more than willing to, just so long as he doesn’t drag her into it, again.
The host came up. His outfit was a simple white button up with black slacks but considering that was what everyone was wearing, though there was one female waitress who had on a black skirt instead, it was easy to see that was the uniform. He had pulled two menus, each only a single page, out before greeting them.
"Table for two?"
Peter nodded. "We'd prefer to sit outside."
"Inside," Lydia contradicted. It was starting to cool down outside, and she didn’t want to freeze.
"Outside," Peter said firmly to the host who seemed very uncertain. Then he looked down to Lydia, "Wait till you see the patio garden. We can move inside if it gets too uncomfortable."
She rolled her eyes, like she cared about patio gardens. Who did he think she was, a landscaper? "Inside," she said to the waiter with a smile.
Peter shook his head and rolled his eyes back at her. He was not going to sit inside. Not after the last time; the outside was a more enjoyable experience. Which was exactly why he'd just started walking towards where the patio door was on the side of the bistro.
The waiter looked between them, clearly not wanting to get in the middle of their spat, but wanting to do his job. Lydia smiled at him again. "Just ignore him," she told him lightly. "A table for two, inside." Peter would just have to get with the program later it seemed, intent as he was to walk towards this patio garden of his.
Lydia should have known better. Peter was far too stubborn; he wasn't like Jackson who caved on watching the notebook for the millionth time. So he'd merely taken up a seat on the patio which was surrounded by ivy climbing up the lattice walls. Of course it was still within eyesight of where Lydia had chosen to sit as he could see through the window, but she didn't have to be made aware of that.
When Peter didn’t join her Lydia wasn’t too bothered, after all she could enjoy a good meal alone, possibly even more. She picked up her menu and let her eyes scan it, only half listening to the waiter rattle off the specials.
"I’ll have the white chocolate raspberry cheesecake," she interrupted. Life was short, she might as well indulge herself. "But just water to drink." She’d rather not try her luck with alcohol, and not just because he might card her. She handed back her menu. "And it’ll be on his tab." Even if he doesn’t join her, she’s going to make him pay for her food.
Like the brief thought brought his attention to her, she can feel his gaze on her. She can nearly feel the annoyance coming off him, even though they’re quite far apart. Well, her cheesecake would improve her mood greatly.
Her feeling his irritation could be because of the bond, if she had ever asked him about it he might have told her. Honestly, Peter wasn't sure what to have expected with being connected with a banshee. He wasn't even sure how long it could last for this time. Or alternatively the reason she could feel his irritation was because that was just how annoyed he was.
He tried to put on a semblance of politeness, or at least uncaring, as the waiter made it out to him. He waved off the menu and ordered. The clam chowder sounded good to him at the moment; he normally wasn't one for anything other than red meat. Along with the fresh bread and a side salad. Oh, and the blackberry pie he'd smelled walking into the place. If Lydia only wanted dessert then she was going to be in for a bit of a wait because he planned on enjoying the meal.
Lydia let her gaze drift around the bistro, it’s a nice atmosphere, but not as ‘high class’ as she’d prefer. As she looks around her eye catches that of another patron; he’s cute in a hipster sort of way—though she’s certainly not going to take him home or go with him if he offers.
She gives him a shade of a welcoming smile. It’d be enjoyable to flirt with someone who actually might be interested in getting in her, metaphorical, pants.
Peter could see that smile of hers and knew what was to come. He shook his head as he sipped on his water. That poor man would never know what hit him. And try as he might, there was that little wiggling feeling in the bottom of his gut that wasn't for pitying the man. It was the possessive worm that underlaid actual emotion which he was trying to do his very best to ignore. For the most part, it was working. Or at least it was working enough for him to continue solely as a spectator.
Finally after a bit more silent back and forth the guy approached her, "Hi. Mind if I join you?"
She gave him a smirk of a smile. "Not at all. I’m," for a brief moment she almost gives him her actual name, but, well, she doesn’t want to. "Ivy." Why not?
On the patio, Peter almost snorted but he hid it well in a bite of bread, which had just been brought out with his soup and salad.
"Jake," he replies as he pulls out the chair across from her and sits, setting down his pint of beer. "So, do you come here often?"
Instead of rolling her eyes she laughs, light and airy. "No, it’s my first time here." She bats her eyelashes and leans forward a little. "The menu caught my eye, and well, I’ve been craving something sweet," she graces him with another meaning filled smile.
"Well the desserts here are pretty good, maybe we could share?" Oh, he was almost adorable.
"I don’t know," she made a little moue. "I’m quite possessive when it comes to raspberries." She puts emphasis on ‘rasp’, bringing to mind other things that might rasp, say, against skin.
Peter had the urge to say something, so he did. Even while knowing that maybe Lydia had learned to use her hearing after all. Or maybe it was because he thought she might have. The world may never know.
"But not your cherries. Tsk tsk."
Lydia did hear, but all it did was make her cackle with glee on the inside; cherries were a lot of work for little gain. Hardly worth bothering about; in either sense. Virginity, after all, was just a stupid social construct. Jake quickly pulled her attention back to him. "I get ya, my roommate hates to share his popcorn."
Whatever, Lydia found herself thinking. Lucky her, her cheesecake arrived; looking like the most decadent gift from on high. She gave the tiniest of pleased sighs. "You don’t mind, do you?" Her voice had gone a little breathy, probably insinuating more than just eating when he wasn’t.
And from the way Jake blushed he picked up on it, taking a sudden, and long, pull from his beer. "Naw, go right ahead."
Picking up her fork she drove it in and pulled away a bite. The moment it hit her tongue she closed her eyes, the flavors overflowing in her mouth. She didn’t even care about Jake anymore, the cheesecake was that good. "Mmmm," pure bliss.
"You're going to get the boy into an awkward situation," Peter said in a mildly helpful tone; who it was helpful was up for debate.
Not even Peter’s sarcasm can reach her right now, not that she cares what sort of state the guy works himself into over her. That’s half the point of this anyways.
"So, uh, good then?" Jake stammered out.
Lydia laughed again, this time richer and more indulgent. She ran her fork through the whipped cream on top of her cheesecake and smiled. "The best," she raised her fork to her mouth and licked away the whipped cream it had collected. "And I’m sorry,"—no she wasn’t—"but this is far too good to share with anyone." She took another bite, transporting herself to into bliss once more.
Peter rolled his eyes once more. He seemed to be doing that a lot tonight. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the back of the man's head. This whole game was both amusing and annoying; Lydia always had to make everything complicated. With a sigh, Peter rolled his head from one side to the other as he took a much more predatory posture. Depending how intune the boy's survival skills were, he'd pick up on it sooner or later.
It was hard to miss Jake’s little shiver. "Cold?" She asked lightly, highly doubting it.
"I must be," he frowned a little though, like he doubted his answer. "I always forget how cold it gets here."
Lydia managed to keep her snort of amusement soft. "Maybe you should be drinking coffee then." Beer dilated blood vessels, which of course cooled you down; granted she was certain his shiver wasn’t from the cold. Though why Peter might be working himself into a snit was beyond her. It wasn’t as if he had any real sort of claim on her; even if they were ‘pack’.
Jake shook his head. "No way Ivy, I’m a caffeine free sort of guy. It’s a drug, you know."
"Right to your door with a bible in hand," Peter snarked quietly.
Biting back a sharp retort she took another bite of her dessert.
"Naw, it’s kombucha and smoothies all the way for me." He gave what was probably supposed to be a wry smile. "And beer."
Plastering her realest fake smile across her face Lydia took another bite of cheesecake instead of pointing out that kombucha, by its very nature of being derived from tea, had caffeine in it. "I’m not much of a drinker myself," not legally anyways.
Jake’s nod grated on her. "That’s cool. So, what do you do? You a student? Work?"
"And here comes the oh so corny windup. Lydia, the kid is out of his league, put him out of his misery," Peter said before he sipped on his water.
If Lydia hears Peter she doesn’t actually pay attention to the words, just the fact that his annoyance is grating on her. And that she’s enjoying this less and less. "Do you know what felicific calculus is?" She asks, sidestepping his questions entirely.
Jake blinks at her. "That’d be a no."
"It’s a type of math to figure out whether or not an act is moral or not from the amount of pain or pleasure it produces. And right now, you’re starting to drag this into the dolors." Not even caring if he understood her explanation she took her last bite of cheesecake, stood, and walked out the door.
A few steps later she fished Peter’s keys out from her bra and spinning the ring a few times around a finger, she whistled a brief tune as she headed back into Peter’s complex, letting herself into his condo and locking the door behind her.
Peter had watched her go, pretty much drilling holes into her back with the intensity. Did she really think that playing those games was going to get her what she wanted? Though, for all he knew what she wanted was a distraction. And there had been plenty of those over so what was one more boy? But if it was something she wanted from him then she would have to learn to be better at her game or at least to change the field. Or so he kept telling himself...something about that wasn't quite matching up internally.
Once Peter finished up his food, he got up and paid for the meal as well as the dessert that Lydia had ordered. The waiter almost looked like he was going to wait around for it so he didn't bother waiting around once he was done. The werewolf strode out into the night air and caught Lydia's scent easily. It wasn't that old. Maybe twenty minutes at max. But the fact that she had decided to go storming out in the middle of the night, in Beacon Hills (the town that liked to see people die), was annoying. When she put herself in danger like that, she put him in danger. He was not okay with that.
And, yes, that's what he was using to justify his irritation with tonight ladies and gentleman. It was the excuse he always used when it came to the entity named Lydia Martin.
Since making herself at home in his apartment she'd changed into some of her pajamas and had docked her phone in Peter's stereo, blaring mashups throughout the apartment as she danced and shimmied along.
Once Peter got to his apartment, he'd already been clued in to the fact that Lydia was having herself some fun. His neighbors might not have been able to hear her, because that's what good insulation was for, but he did. Then again his hearing was almost always set on 'cheat' so that wasn't that big of a surprise.
He reached down for the knob to open the door, only to find out that it was locked. Irrationally a growl bubbled up from deep in his chest. She had locked his door on him.
Her music started shifting from mashups to 80s hair metal, and she found herself singing along; if with more enthusiasm than her usual talent. "And I want! And I need! And I lust. Animal!" She leaped up and down on the couch acting like she was playing air guitar.
...she had locked his door and she was messing with his music. Was nothing sacred‽
"Lydia...open the door," Peter said in a deep voice, trying to get back to a point of indifference.
She heard Peter, but she was going to pretend like she hadn't. "Cry wolf, baby cry tough. Gonna hunt you down like an, an, an, animal!"
"Lydia don't make me do it myself," Peter said as he took in a deep breath.
It was such a nice door. Italian if he remembered correctly. And the handle was finely crafted as well. He would hate to have to bust it open himself. Plus there was the fact that it was his and Peter had a thing against damaging his own things. Not to mention it would have shown a lack of control over the situation and that wasn't something he wanted to broadcast either.
Oh, she wanted him to do it himself, get him to experience what it was like to get frustrated and annoyed. So she just kept on singing and dancing
"I saw my baby, crying hard as babe could cry, what could I do! My baby's love had gone and left my baby blue! Nobody knew! What kind of magic spell to use." So very true.
Peter's hand went to grab the doorknob again. It rattled a bit as he tried one more time. The doorknob stopped moving, however, when Peter decided to try a new approach. Needless to say, about five minutes later he was letting himself in through the window of his bedroom. There was many perks to being a werewolf and the cover of night allowed for a lot of freedoms that the day didn't.
Peter came down his stairs, practically skipping, as he whistled the song that Lydia had on.
"Put that magic jump on me! Slap that baby make him free!" spinning around she saw Peter at the foot of the stairs. "I should slap you," she said blithely, acting like his sudden appearance was to be expected.
"Last I checked this was my apartment. Which you, Lydia, tried to keep me out of."
She did a little shimmy and jump. "So? That's not a crime, and anyways," a smile bared her teeth. "It was fun, I wish I could've seen you face when you realized what just happened." That was what he got for letting her keep his keys.
"How'd you get in anyways?" She asked as nonchalantly as possible. Still more concerned really with enjoying herself.
"I huffed, and I puffed and I let myself in," Peter remarked with a whiplash sort of humor as he made his usual sort of hand gestures. "I'm a werewolf, Lydia, how do you think?"
She laughed, "Pretty sure if you'd really huffed and puffed I would have felt it," her grin turns salacious.
Peter raised his eyebrow at that insinuation.
"Did you bring that water back with us?" Peter asked as his expression remained inquisitive.
"Noooo," she pouted. "We should have though," she did a little bump and grind. "That would have been fun!"
"No thank you," Peter said as he stayed in his spot, very mindful of the fact that something about Lydia was off.
She was forward and bold but she wasn't this. Especially not with him. Of course, he was excluding that one night because that had been under the influence of the Incubus.
"Don't you have a home to get to? Or were you planning on moving in with me?" Peter asked with a mild sarcasm coloring his voice.
The music changed to hardcore dubstep and Lydia swayed. "Mom doesn't think I exist anymore," she said with toneless glee. "She forgot to clap her hands and say she believed in fairies." She leapt off from the back of the couch.
"Ah, the curse of the banshee," Peter's tone was almost playful in a dark, sadistic way. "I was under the impression that it took longer than that. I suppose that's a compliment to your abilities."
She gave an unhappy smile, "Mother can you hear me? Thanks for the disease!" she sang angrily. Lydia might know the cure, but that didn't mean she was willing to take it.
"Must you be so dramatic?" Peter asked as he rolled his eyes with all the attitude that he could muster.
"Life's no fun without any drama Peter," she sashayed towards him.
"Life is no fun when there's too much drama," Peter countered as he kept a wary eye on the girl.
If he didn't know any better, he would say that Lydia was stone cold drunk. But he couldn't smell anything that would have lead to that situation. There was no alcohol on her breath, nor in the air. There wasn't even the scent of wolfsbane—which he would have recognized asleep at this point in his life. What kind of a werewolf couldn't smell wolfsbane?
She stopped right in front of him and turned her face up to smile at him. "Well I like living dangerously now, dementia's just around the corner after all." Once again her smile went bitter.
Peter held up his finger, "Only if you have a daughter and she lives long enough to get her powers."
"Knowing my luck," she sing songed. "It'll happen." Or she could bind herself to Peter for the rest of her supernatural life. Which, sure, the hate!sex would be fantastic; but she was too selfish to put herself through the torture of the day to day with him. Ireland proved that at least.
Peter's finger lowered as he shrugged. He wasn't going to dispute the fact that she had horrible luck. "You can't run from reality forever, Lydia. The sooner you face it, the sooner you can conquer it. You've already conquered death...how hard can this be?"
A noncommittal hum left her, her hands rising up to wrap around his neck. "Who said I was running? Maybe I've just been playing hard to get."
Peter looked down at her as he searched her eyes, entirely perplexed at the new turn. His body was stiff from the fact that she had willingly come up to touch him, willingly looped her arms around his neck. It wasn't from necessity...what was she playing at? Better question of the moment was: what was playing with her? He couldn't see anything showing head trauma. Nor the slightly hazed look of something being inside her mind. He couldn't smell any outside influences or hear anything either. At least nothing that wouldn't have been all natural from Lydia if he believed this circumstance. Which he didn't, not for a second. He'd been burned one too many times before even if it wasn't by her.
She found herself frowning at his reaction; this wouldn't be so fun if he's so unresisting. A little hesitance was all well and good, but not outright reluctance. "Why the long face?" She took about half a step closer, which was all she really could take without pressing herself against him.
His look was down right suspicious, "What's gotten into you?"
"A reality check." She responded tartly, a hint of anger in her voice.
"A reality check that puts you in my personal space?" His tone was challenging as he refrained from putting his hands anywhere, which ended up feeling very unnatural to him but he was going to pretend otherwise.
She batted her eyelashes at him. "Why not? Gotta look after myself, no one else is planning to."
Again, she was making valid points. What was confusing was how those points included him. Unless he was mistaken she still didn't know about how much her welfare was his concern and he had planned to keep it that way. So what was with this turn around? What had infected her between the airplane ride home and now?
"This explanation ought to be interesting," Peter prompted her with the tone of his voice.
He decided maybe trying to distance her away from him was the better idea. If he didn't know any better he'd have to say she was acting like a b***h in heat. Considering it was about that time that wouldn't have been surprising for a werewolf but Lydia wasn't even remotely similar.
"Go on, I'm listening," he was challenging her mentally, trying to engage the rational side of Lydia, even though he'd started to try and physically distance her away. "Impress me."
A moue of distaste crossed her face, "what else is there to explain?" She finally pressed herself against him, enjoying the heat radiate off him. "Mmmm. You already know the whole story."
"I know a story. I don't know the whole story."
Oh look, he was admitting to a failing. Well desperate times called for desperate measures. Peter had never been a posture child for this kind of restraint after all. And everyone who had ever met him would know better than to bank on any sort of upstanding morality to stop him from doing something.
"Who cares about the whole story?" This was really starting to annoy her. "Girls just wanna have fun after all."
"And boys tend to not want to wake up to screaming in the morning," Peter said in a clipped tone.
She managed to shift herself half an inch closer, "Oh Peter, the only reason I'll be screaming is because of what you'll be doing to me at the time."
"Whatever this is, it's not your best idea," Peter said.
He could have made more of an effort to resist but the teenage side of him, which had never truly died no matter how many times he said otherwise, had different ideas all together. It was easy to see how those ideas were forming in his head given what was going on. Someone once said: Lydia gets what Lydia wants...and that seemed to continue to be true.
"Who cares if this is a good idea or not, doesn't mean I won't enjoy it either way," she pushed herself up, not that it did much to bridge the gap between their faces.
"You're playing with fire," he said in a tight, but quiet voice. The truth of the matter was that he was the one playing with fire and he knew that all too well.
"Well then I guess it's a good thing I run cold then." Christ, you'd think he would've taken the hint by now instead of hemming and hawing like a grandma getting ready to barter.
Peter's hands tightened on her shoulders from where he'd been attempting to maneuver her away from him. What a lot of good that had done. Then again he'd been trying to not hurt her at all which was probably his downfall. Either way he had fallen and he had never been one to ignore a good fall.
His hand slide from her arm to under her chin, holding her gaze up as they paused there. He continued to search her eyes and her scent for any sign of something having gone wrong. His nose even brushed up against her cheek as he tried to figure it out, the gesture normally as informative as it was affectionate. Unfortunately for him he gleaned nothing else.
A pleased hum left Lydia at the first of many touches; with a sigh, she tilted her face, baring her neck. One of her hands slid up to tangle in his hair, nails scratching slightly against his scalp. Peter's other hand slipped down ever so slowly, his fingers practically teasing every inch of flesh it came across. He slowly looped his arm around her lower back as his other hand slid down her neck. His mouth turned up into a bit of a smile when he felt her nails digging into his scalp.
"Just so we're clear," Peter said as he brushed past the side of her lips with his own. "You didn't have the blue flower after all."
Well...so much for making it a serious moment.
A sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh left her. "There never was a flower," she gasped in his ear; wrapping one of her legs around his; annoyed that they were rehashing this again.
"That's your opinion," Peter commented.
His hand trailed back around her waist and down her thigh as he moved over ever so slightly. The bowl where his keys normally went sat atop a small, modern looking end table. It had one drawer which he pulled open quickly and produced a single flower. It looked exactly like the one he had given her in her hallucinations, only this one was real and it was made out of a fabric to mimic the petal nearly perfectly. He moved his face back away from hers momentarily to hold the flower up even as his other hand went to support her weight to help ease her tension.
Blowing cool air at her nose, Peter waited for her to notice the flower. "This time, try not to lose it."
She stared at the flower, disbelief and something like amused outrage flickering through her faster than she can really experience them. "Maybe I don't want your flower," she responded tartly. The other day he'd been more than happy to keep things between them impersonal, and now he was trying to bring feelings into the mix?
"You just don't want me to be right," Peter quipped back. "But fine...if you don't want the get out of jail free card…"
He put it back towards where his keys were supposed to be. It looked rather nice sitting in the bowl all by itself.
"I am a bad girl." She wiggled. "You could lock me up, throw away the key. Make me do all sorts of horrible, dreadful things to win free."
FADE
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