[Really, Anita had begun to think that outside of an investigation, she'd never see the inside of a house like this again. Even looking at a place larger than a motel room or the very occasional apartment with a short-term lease felt bizarre. It hadn't particularly bothered her. It just didn't fit in with the hunter lifestyle -- at least, not the way they did it. Still, now and then a job turned out to be reasonably long-term and putting down what looked like roots was necessary.
The problem with moving into a house was that they didn't exactly own very much. Everything fit into either backseat or the trunk of the Impala -- the full arsenal and a few boxes of clothes. Yeah. Rental furniture was going to have to be a thing, unless they wanted to be sleeping on the floor for however long they wound up staying.
At least Sam had made himself available to help with the heavy lifting. Anita usually turned her nose up at anything even remotely resembling chivalry and insisted on attempting all sorts of things that were physically beyond her ken, but just this once, she thought she might leave the manual labor to the menfolk and dedicate herself to unpacking.
Which, to be fair, was kind of cheating. It was an easy job, considering immaterial constantly being on the road had forced them to become. Pulling a box of clothes from the backseat, Anita tucks it under one arm and shuts the door behind her, heading over to the back of the moving truck and shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand while she attempts to get a look at what needs to be unloaded.
Yep. Not a thing that had been in their possession for more than 24 hours. Throwing a life together in a matter of days was kind of surreal, really.
That bed looked awesome, though.]
Well, we'll be eating off paper plates for awhile, but at least it looks like we got everything covered on the furniture end of things.
[And let's be real. They were probably going to stick with paper plates anyway. Housework was not exactly her forte, including dishes.]
[The house beside the little suburban slice of Beacon Hills that Stiles and Derek had settled into had been empty since they moved in. Stiles liked to joke it was because Derek scared them off with the sheer force of his glowering, but like it or not, they'd been neighborless.
To be honest, it was probably better that way. The Stilinski-Hale house was the home of the Alpha of Beacon Hills, and as such, constantly full of, well. Werewolves. There were people constantly coming in and out of the house at any and all hours of the night, a slightly ridiculous ring of rowan trees rimming the forest the house was backed by, and aside from that, the alpha himself.
Generally neither of them wanted any trouble. Part of moving outside of Derek's old , burnt out family house was starting a quieter life, as Stiles liked to point out, and sliding into as normal as they could possibly stand.
Stiles had rolled out of bed this morning with his coffee and considered working on his thesis, but the sight of new people--people who were going to live by them who weren't pack--left Stiles obviously brimming with curiosity (never a good thing), and he leaned into the window frame as the cat wove through his legs.]
Ru--
[ That cat, he swears to every God in heaven, is actually a genius, and Ru(rest of the name redacted) decides to suddenly dart out the back door. Swearing, Stiles nearly drops his coffee and scrambles out the door behind the cat, watching as she gracefully winds her way up the ramp of the moving truck and plants her little spotted butt down on top of a box.]
[Oh, cat. A cat in their truck. Near their brand-new furniture. Suddenly Anita has a very vivid mental image of Dean popping out of the cab of the U-Haul prepared to fire a shot to scare the thing off. They both had a barely-restrained fascination with the fact that they had furniture, and paired with Dean's hostile aversion to cats thanks to an allergy she felt was blown way out of proportion, all she could think was, 'well, wouldn't that be a great first impression to make on the neighbors?'
She sets the box down in the driveway and heads up the ramp, waving vaguely towards the young man she can only assume is the cat's owner.]
I've got her, she's fine. C'mere, kitty.
[She holds a hand out to their furriest new neighbor, rubbing her fingers together and making what she had always felt were ridiculous kissing sounds that somehow managed to work magic on cats of any kind. She wasn't quite willing to reach out and risk getting scratched just yet. She'd had a hell of a lot worse than cat scratches, but still. Those hurt like a bitch.]
At least she went into the truck and not down the street, right?
[ At least Ru seemed to get the hint that Stiles was trying to be nosy. She didn't move from her spot on the box, perfectly content and mewing at Anita, until he dashed out of the house, still in his pajama pants.
Stumbling over to the truck, Stiles waves back, a little awkwardly, and hurries over to scoop up the cat. ]
I swear to god, this is a human in a cat's body, come here, you. [She doesn't go as easily as she might have for Derek, but Stiles manages to scoop her up and put her front paws over his shoulder, clambering out of the moving truck and offering Anita a sheepish grin.]
I generally don't love to introduce myself as the guy who has snooping animals, but hi, I'm the guy who has snooping animals. [Smooth.] We're, and I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear this, neighbors. [And he tilts his head back to the little brick house next door. Crap. He is not doing so well with this introduction thing.] Uh. Welcome to the neighborhood, I guess.
[Well, she's heard worse introductions, that's for sure. She grins in reply as she hops out of the truck, touching one hand against the floor to steady herself as she goes. She offers him her hand once her feet hit the pavement. You can tell a lot about a person from their handshake. She's disappointed that it's a custom that seems to have gone out of style in a lot of places.]
Don't most animals tend to snoop, anyway?
[Especially cats.]
But thanks for the welcoming committee, even if it was unintentional. Anita Campbell. I have a husband around here somewhere, and a brother-in-law. They're the designated heavy-lifters.
[It had been three days since moving in, and the novelty of just about everything had yet to wear off. Unpacking had been an incredibly underwhelming task, which was to be expected considering their situation, and so while they settled -- completely with putting the office in order and covering an entire wall with photos, newspaper clippings and other information relevant to their current investigation -- Anita found that a number of trips to various department stores had been necessary to straighten out all of the minor household items they had managed to miss.
Really, it had been four years since she'd stayed anywhere for more than a couple of weeks at a time, and Dean had been in and out of motel rooms since he was a kid. They had been bound to miss a few things. A few, however, turned out to be a rather dizzying amount, and anyone who might have been paying attention would have seen Anita's newly-obtained Jeep pulling in and out of the driveway at all hours whenever a new necessity popped up unexpectedly.
By day three, she was almost positive that she had everything covered, which meant that she had time to return to enjoying the sheer novelty of having a full house at their disposal before getting down to brass tacks. Early afternoon found her in the backyard -- they had a yard -- kneeling beside what looked like prime gardening space set aside by the previous owners, however long ago that might have been. She managed to go through the motions of planting three whole tomato plants before setting her trowel down and removing her gloves, sitting back on her heels.
Okay. This part of domesticity wasn't as exciting as she'd hoped. The high was wearing off, at least concerning gardening. Clearly, that wasn't hobby she was going to be taking up anytime soon. Seriously, it was all kinds of unnecessary work.]
[ What might catch Anita's attention is something from next door--namely, a puff of black smoke that suddenly shoots up. That would be Stiles' version of a garden, which currently included a rowan tree and a bunch of other plants, generally medicinal. The small fence they have is open in the back, separating their property from their neighbors but not from the Beacon Hills conservatory, which opens up behind the house. It's for pack related reasons, and their small garden of magical-slash-werewolf-related plants looks downright conspicuous among the trees.
Of course, burning a piece of wood for the collection of mountain ash wasn't exactly conspicuous, but hey. Stiles had to do what he had to do. Didn't exactly realize the neighbors were out and about, though.]
[It does, in fact, catch Anita's attention, and rather than heading back into the house, she heads over towards the lattice fence separating their yards, leaning against it as she peeks over curiously.]
Is this a run-of-the-mill weekend project for you?
[Deadpan:] Sacrificing a lamb. Part of the whole Satanic cult thing we do on Sundays.
[Stiles raises his eyebrows at her, his mouth sliding into a grin as he sits back from his handiwork. The branch is burning slowly and letting off a crisp smell, and there's a little jar set underneath it, so the ash falls into it. A little suspicious, but half their neighbors think the pack is just a cult anyway.]
[She smirks in reply, stealing a quick glance at the project in question. Is he collecting ash? Huh. Maybe something to keep in mind, but she doesn't think much of it for the time being. She looks back over her shoulder towards the abandoned plot before giving him a wry smile.]
I was, and then I realized gardening was a lot more work than I actually wanted to do. The novelty of having a yard to plant one in is nice, though. We've only been in apartments before now.
[ Even six years after the fire, in a strangely idyllic and domestic life, Derek has nights where he can't sleep. Usually it's either he curls himself around Stiles and simply listens to the neighborhood around them, until something resembling sleep falls over him, or he gets up and patrols the territory that his pack has had claim on for generations. Since the murders started happening in the outer reaches of the territory, in allied pack ranges, he's opted for the latter.
If something is going to happen in the place his family has protected since they first started living in California, he wants to know about it.
This night, a week after their new arrivals to the neighborhood, patrol results in something less than comforting just before the sun's up. Instead of the usual scents of his pack throughout the nature preserve or crisscrossing over town, there's copper and rot and an unfamiliar wolf. A snarl leaves him, but he bites back the howl and replaces it instead with a call to Stiles-- body in a ditch on the main road to the preserve, get in contact with the sheriff and the pack.
As the sun starts to rise, the alpha makes himself scarce with ease. He has to try and track the scent left behind before the humans-- unaware and in the know alike-- begin to traipse all over the area. Sheriff Stilinski and his men will be there before long, and Stiles not long after if not before them, so he doesn't have much time. He trusts that the pack will be on high alert without much prompting, but he hopes that they know better than to flock on location with the authorities there.
Even as he follows what remains of a well-covered trail through the trees, he can hear the sirens arriving. Instead of focusing on it, however, he focuses on the anger burning under his senses and leaves them to their work. ]
[The local authorities weren't the only ones to arrive on the scene as the sirens died down. Anita had been quick to arm herself and head there the moment she'd heard the call go out over the police scanner. Their plan wasn't perfect, but it should have allowed her to get a close look at the body -- and that was what was most important right now.
During their early stabs at the case, they had been unable to get close to a fresh kill. They'd collected plenty of information from the bodies they had seen, sure, but considering they'd made little to no progress so far, it was worth investigating something a little more immediate. Maybe there were details they were missing with the other bodies.
It wasn't her first time at a murder scene. Not by a long shot, even if you didn't count the number of deaths she's witnessed through hunting alone. There were always too many people at a crime scene, even at this obscene hour. Uniforms, usually a plainclothes detective or two, gawkers, medical examiners, press... it was early enough that only the Sheriff and his men had responded so far.
Good. That made things easier.
She fumbled for her identification as she briskly walked towards the man she could only assume was Sheriff Stilinski, holding it up to give a clear view of it to anyone who might have questioned. Sometimes, the local authorities were glad to have a PI's perspective. Other times, they might have told her to hit the road. She preferred to keep relations friendly with the authorities, something Dean tended to turn his nose up at, but however this worked out, it would get them what they needed. Either the cops let her look at the body, or if they insisted she qualified as a civilian and told her to beat it, Dean could play the part of a suit and put her in her place, then keep the uniforms busy while she went to do a little examining of her own.
Whatever the case, she was getting a good look at that body.
She cleared her throat a little as she approached, offering a tight, reserved smile. Professional. Not happy to be there (who could be happy at a murder scene?), but more than civil.]
Anita Campbell, PI. I heard the call go out. How many bodies?
[ After having finally figured out what was going around in Beacon Hills back when Stiles was still in high school, the sheriff has found himself in a fairly precarious loop. How so much supernatural chaos happens in one community, he's never going to know. But for as long as he's sheriff, John Stilinski is going to do what he can to keep his city safe.
He supposes that's both as an officer of the law and an apparent member of the Beacon Hills werewolf pack, but he's still trying to get used to that, even with his son married to the alpha and attending college. At least now he knows the truth, and can do what he can to ensure that people are kept safe from the unknown. What had been previously unknown to him.
Suddenly having a body in his jurisdiction, in their territory, is disconcerting and worrisome. It's always awful to come on a scene where there's been a death, always hits close to home when he thinks of the loss their families might be enduring, but he steels himself and prepares for the worse.
As Anita clears her throat, he looks up at her from where he's taking notes-- half for himself and his own paperwork, half for his son and the pack-- and offers her his own tight smile. He's wary at the sudden appearance of a PI, but her arrival and name tell him that she's the one Stiles was talking about. ]
John Stilinski, sheriff. [ He's polite and professional in turn, if tired, as he flips his notebook shut and uses it to direct towards where the body's been sectioned off. ] One, Maria Nash. Caucasian female, twenty-six. A local to Beacon Hills, and the first one to be found across the city line.
Last one was found in the preserve-- [ A wide gesture with the pad at the surrounding area, before he slips into an inner breast pocket of his jacket. ] --but was still in the next county over.
[ Derek had said it was testing the boundaries of the surrounding territories, occupied and unoccupied. Which means this was something of a challenge, if he remembers right. ]
[She nods when he gives his name. Stiles' father. She could shake hands and exchange pleasantries later. That made this trickier, though. It helped that they wouldn't be in town long -- not once this was solved. If they were lucky, the sheriff would never see Dean outside of a suit and they'd get away from this clean.
Her eyes narrow slightly as she follows his gesture. She'd seen the last body, too -- they'd gotten a look at it in the morgue. The beast that had made the kill had done a hell of a job. It had almost been unrecognizable.]
Probable cause of death?
[Life would have been so much easier if she'd just had a badge that identified her as a preternatural expert.]
[It's the crack of dawn when Stiles' alarm goes off at six, like clockwork. And again, like clockwork, he smacks the snooze button for the next eight minutes. It's one of those mornings--after dealing with the ridiculousness of the crime scene the day before, Stiles had gone to bed exhausted and apparently completely curled up against Derek, drooling into the pillow under his head and with an arm sprawled across his chest.
It was a completely viable reason to hit snooze. So naturally he rolled back over, mashed his face into the junction between Derek's shoulder and collarbone, and shut his eyes again, trying to do this all as quietly as humanly possible in hopes that Derek wouldn't wake up.
Of course that was kind of futile, but you know. A guy could try. ]
[ The moment that the alarm goes off, Derek is, of course, awake. He opens his eyes blearily and stares ahead of him as Stiles rolls to smack the snooze button. It's routine, even on days where they haven't dealt with murder mysteries or supernatural bullshit invading their territory, so he simply remains still. His arm lifts a little to let Stiles move, but other than that...
With a sigh as he suddenly has a face mashed into him, he resettles his arm and looks towards the window absently for five of the eight minutes. He's listening to everything around them, taking in the morning quiet before he yawns wide. Come seven minutes... ]
Get up, Stiles.
[ His voice is deep with sleep, though it's possibly also exhaustion. That night was only about three hours of sleep, and it's no surprise. ]
[ Derek wasn't the only one who hadn't slept well the night before. Their pack meeting had gone late into the night, and between Derek's obvious radiating stress and his own...sort of radiating stress, it had been a rough night for everyone involved.
His natural response is to wiggle closer, rubbing his nose against the bare curve of his shoulder and squinting his eyes shut. Someone is really not a morning person, routine or not.]
[ There's a soft, tired laugh at Stiles' protest, and Derek shifts to slip both arms around Stiles as he wiggles closer. His broad hands spread wide across his back, instinctively finding the span of dots that leave absent constellations everywhere. ]
I can, and you know it.
[ He presses a kiss to the top of his head, burying his nose into his dark hair and digging his fingers a little into sore muscles. Their mutual stress had been grating-- Stiles knew him like the back of his hand, and he could feel Stiles' with every sense at his disposal-- so he can understand his reluctance this morning.
[So far, the hunt has been going slowly, without much progress even since the recent murder scene, but at least being on the scene as quickly as they were had proven to be useful. They'd gotten more information about the cause of death than they'd been able to get before, now that they'd seen the body when it was fresh. That little bit of progress might have made it even more frustrating that they were coming up against a brick wall.
Sighing, Anita threw herself onto the bed and stretched out on her stomach, setting the file she'd been leafing through down in front of her. She began to shuffle through the photos again, looking for any detail she might have missed, but the siren call of the memory foam mattress and the down pillows was too great. Sliding the folder aside, she buried her face in the pillow and exhaled.]
[Yeah, the case wasn't going anywhere quickly enough and it was frustrating. Dean's situation was a bit of a dichotomy now, because being in this town for so long is making him itchy. At the same time, he loved being in his own place. Somewhere fresh. Clean. Not filled with weird stains and smells.
He appears seemingly out of no where, plopping across the bed, not caring if he's actually partially laying on her.]
[If his weight bothered her, it didn't show. She looked at him over her shoulder, partially pinned to the mattress, and smirked, pulling the pillow against her chest.]
I would go so far as to say this bed is as good as or possibly better than the sex we have on it.
[It was a real shame that they would have to leave it behind when they were finished.]
[Anita has spent the majority of the morning in the office, going through case information, but when she happens to glance up and note that the clock reads a quarter to noon, she pushes herself away from the desk and heads towards the kitchen. Time for a well-deserved coffee break. Maybe lunch, too.
It's not like she won't be getting the same amount of nowhere in half an hour, anyway.
She sighs heavily, rubbing at her temple as she puts the coffee on to brew. So far, the only thing they've gotten a break on during this case is the living situation. Living conditions are great. Lack of useful information? Not so much.
She glances towards the phone as the water in the coffee maker begins to bubble. She knows exactly who to call for input -- but there's more than that, too. They've been here for over a week and they've been so wrapped up in trying to pull the case together that she's yet to touch base.
Grabbing the phone off the wall, she tucks it between her ear and shoulder and leans back against the counter as she taps her foot, waiting for the other party to pick up.]
[ Mornings for Bobby Singer don't start so much as they just pick back up again from where he last left off. A few hours of sleep, a hard pot of coffee within arm's reach, a quick breakfast to get him started, and then it's right back where he was before bed. Research awaits, phone calls need to be handled and redirected, information needs to be provided.
He's been up for a solid seven hours when the phone rings, and he looks up from his reading, brows raising as he takes a drink from his mug. It's the house phone and not any of the other lines he has set up, like a damn veritable operator wheeling back and forth on the board, so he knows it's technically not an urgent call or an emergency. Cracking his back from his hyper focus, he wheels over to answer it with his book on his lap.
He checks the caller ID, as always, to see where it's coming in from. Seeing the number, he can't help but snort faintly.
Dean never calls him from the "home" phone, so as he picks up and tucks the phone against his shoulder to resume his research there's a smirk in his voice. ]
[Anita cracks a smile at the sound of his voice. She'd figured he'd know it was her instead of Dean. Dean only ever used his cell, and it was entirely too sensible an hour for Dean to be calling anyone anyway. Besides, he rarely called to make small talk. She, on the other hand, had long been in the practice of checking in.
After all, what would he ever do without her?]
Good morning to you, too, old man. I assume you've already put in a full day's work. Make sure you break for lunch sometime soon, yeah?
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Moving Day!
The problem with moving into a house was that they didn't exactly own very much. Everything fit into either backseat or the trunk of the Impala -- the full arsenal and a few boxes of clothes. Yeah. Rental furniture was going to have to be a thing, unless they wanted to be sleeping on the floor for however long they wound up staying.
At least Sam had made himself available to help with the heavy lifting. Anita usually turned her nose up at anything even remotely resembling chivalry and insisted on attempting all sorts of things that were physically beyond her ken, but just this once, she thought she might leave the manual labor to the menfolk and dedicate herself to unpacking.
Which, to be fair, was kind of cheating. It was an easy job, considering immaterial constantly being on the road had forced them to become. Pulling a box of clothes from the backseat, Anita tucks it under one arm and shuts the door behind her, heading over to the back of the moving truck and shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand while she attempts to get a look at what needs to be unloaded.
Yep. Not a thing that had been in their possession for more than 24 hours. Throwing a life together in a matter of days was kind of surreal, really.
That bed looked awesome, though.]
Well, we'll be eating off paper plates for awhile, but at least it looks like we got everything covered on the furniture end of things.
[And let's be real. They were probably going to stick with paper plates anyway. Housework was not exactly her forte, including dishes.]
nosiest neighbor
To be honest, it was probably better that way. The Stilinski-Hale house was the home of the Alpha of Beacon Hills, and as such, constantly full of, well. Werewolves. There were people constantly coming in and out of the house at any and all hours of the night, a slightly ridiculous ring of rowan trees rimming the forest the house was backed by, and aside from that, the alpha himself.
Generally neither of them wanted any trouble. Part of moving outside of Derek's old , burnt out family house was starting a quieter life, as Stiles liked to point out, and sliding into as normal as they could possibly stand.
Stiles had rolled out of bed this morning with his coffee and considered working on his thesis, but the sight of new people--people who were going to live by them who weren't pack--left Stiles obviously brimming with curiosity (never a good thing), and he leaned into the window frame as the cat wove through his legs.]
Ru--
[ That cat, he swears to every God in heaven, is actually a genius, and Ru(rest of the name redacted) decides to suddenly dart out the back door. Swearing, Stiles nearly drops his coffee and scrambles out the door behind the cat, watching as she gracefully winds her way up the ramp of the moving truck and plants her little spotted butt down on top of a box.]
Oh my god, get back here!
/ )u( \
She sets the box down in the driveway and heads up the ramp, waving vaguely towards the young man she can only assume is the cat's owner.]
I've got her, she's fine. C'mere, kitty.
[She holds a hand out to their furriest new neighbor, rubbing her fingers together and making what she had always felt were ridiculous kissing sounds that somehow managed to work magic on cats of any kind. She wasn't quite willing to reach out and risk getting scratched just yet. She'd had a hell of a lot worse than cat scratches, but still. Those hurt like a bitch.]
At least she went into the truck and not down the street, right?
\o/
Stumbling over to the truck, Stiles waves back, a little awkwardly, and hurries over to scoop up the cat. ]
I swear to god, this is a human in a cat's body, come here, you. [She doesn't go as easily as she might have for Derek, but Stiles manages to scoop her up and put her front paws over his shoulder, clambering out of the moving truck and offering Anita a sheepish grin.]
I generally don't love to introduce myself as the guy who has snooping animals, but hi, I'm the guy who has snooping animals. [Smooth.] We're, and I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear this, neighbors. [And he tilts his head back to the little brick house next door. Crap. He is not doing so well with this introduction thing.] Uh. Welcome to the neighborhood, I guess.
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Don't most animals tend to snoop, anyway?
[Especially cats.]
But thanks for the welcoming committee, even if it was unintentional. Anita Campbell. I have a husband around here somewhere, and a brother-in-law. They're the designated heavy-lifters.
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None of my icons are loading so I hope this is actually a friendly Derek.
Re: None of my icons are loading so I hope this is actually a friendly Derek.
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That was quite friendly actually.
Proud of my luck.
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Picket Fences [Anita and Stiles, eavesdroppers/crashers welcome!]
Really, it had been four years since she'd stayed anywhere for more than a couple of weeks at a time, and Dean had been in and out of motel rooms since he was a kid. They had been bound to miss a few things. A few, however, turned out to be a rather dizzying amount, and anyone who might have been paying attention would have seen Anita's newly-obtained Jeep pulling in and out of the driveway at all hours whenever a new necessity popped up unexpectedly.
By day three, she was almost positive that she had everything covered, which meant that she had time to return to enjoying the sheer novelty of having a full house at their disposal before getting down to brass tacks. Early afternoon found her in the backyard -- they had a yard -- kneeling beside what looked like prime gardening space set aside by the previous owners, however long ago that might have been. She managed to go through the motions of planting three whole tomato plants before setting her trowel down and removing her gloves, sitting back on her heels.
Okay. This part of domesticity wasn't as exciting as she'd hoped. The high was wearing off, at least concerning gardening. Clearly, that wasn't hobby she was going to be taking up anytime soon. Seriously, it was all kinds of unnecessary work.]
yes good :3c
Of course, burning a piece of wood for the collection of mountain ash wasn't exactly conspicuous, but hey. Stiles had to do what he had to do. Didn't exactly realize the neighbors were out and about, though.]
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Is this a run-of-the-mill weekend project for you?
[What's being subtle?]
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[Stiles raises his eyebrows at her, his mouth sliding into a grin as he sits back from his handiwork. The branch is burning slowly and letting off a crisp smell, and there's a little jar set underneath it, so the ash falls into it. A little suspicious, but half their neighbors think the pack is just a cult anyway.]
Getting your garden on?
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[She smirks in reply, stealing a quick glance at the project in question. Is he collecting ash? Huh. Maybe something to keep in mind, but she doesn't think much of it for the time being. She looks back over her shoulder towards the abandoned plot before giving him a wry smile.]
I was, and then I realized gardening was a lot more work than I actually wanted to do. The novelty of having a yard to plant one in is nice, though. We've only been in apartments before now.
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Murder Scene
If something is going to happen in the place his family has protected since they first started living in California, he wants to know about it.
This night, a week after their new arrivals to the neighborhood, patrol results in something less than comforting just before the sun's up. Instead of the usual scents of his pack throughout the nature preserve or crisscrossing over town, there's copper and rot and an unfamiliar wolf. A snarl leaves him, but he bites back the howl and replaces it instead with a call to Stiles-- body in a ditch on the main road to the preserve, get in contact with the sheriff and the pack.
As the sun starts to rise, the alpha makes himself scarce with ease. He has to try and track the scent left behind before the humans-- unaware and in the know alike-- begin to traipse all over the area. Sheriff Stilinski and his men will be there before long, and Stiles not long after if not before them, so he doesn't have much time. He trusts that the pack will be on high alert without much prompting, but he hopes that they know better than to flock on location with the authorities there.
Even as he follows what remains of a well-covered trail through the trees, he can hear the sirens arriving. Instead of focusing on it, however, he focuses on the anger burning under his senses and leaves them to their work. ]
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During their early stabs at the case, they had been unable to get close to a fresh kill. They'd collected plenty of information from the bodies they had seen, sure, but considering they'd made little to no progress so far, it was worth investigating something a little more immediate. Maybe there were details they were missing with the other bodies.
It wasn't her first time at a murder scene. Not by a long shot, even if you didn't count the number of deaths she's witnessed through hunting alone. There were always too many people at a crime scene, even at this obscene hour. Uniforms, usually a plainclothes detective or two, gawkers, medical examiners, press... it was early enough that only the Sheriff and his men had responded so far.
Good. That made things easier.
She fumbled for her identification as she briskly walked towards the man she could only assume was Sheriff Stilinski, holding it up to give a clear view of it to anyone who might have questioned. Sometimes, the local authorities were glad to have a PI's perspective. Other times, they might have told her to hit the road. She preferred to keep relations friendly with the authorities, something Dean tended to turn his nose up at, but however this worked out, it would get them what they needed. Either the cops let her look at the body, or if they insisted she qualified as a civilian and told her to beat it, Dean could play the part of a suit and put her in her place, then keep the uniforms busy while she went to do a little examining of her own.
Whatever the case, she was getting a good look at that body.
She cleared her throat a little as she approached, offering a tight, reserved smile. Professional. Not happy to be there (who could be happy at a murder scene?), but more than civil.]
Anita Campbell, PI. I heard the call go out. How many bodies?
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He supposes that's both as an officer of the law and an apparent member of the Beacon Hills werewolf pack, but he's still trying to get used to that, even with his son married to the alpha and attending college. At least now he knows the truth, and can do what he can to ensure that people are kept safe from the unknown. What had been previously unknown to him.
Suddenly having a body in his jurisdiction, in their territory, is disconcerting and worrisome. It's always awful to come on a scene where there's been a death, always hits close to home when he thinks of the loss their families might be enduring, but he steels himself and prepares for the worse.
As Anita clears her throat, he looks up at her from where he's taking notes-- half for himself and his own paperwork, half for his son and the pack-- and offers her his own tight smile. He's wary at the sudden appearance of a PI, but her arrival and name tell him that she's the one Stiles was talking about. ]
John Stilinski, sheriff. [ He's polite and professional in turn, if tired, as he flips his notebook shut and uses it to direct towards where the body's been sectioned off. ] One, Maria Nash. Caucasian female, twenty-six. A local to Beacon Hills, and the first one to be found across the city line.
Last one was found in the preserve-- [ A wide gesture with the pad at the surrounding area, before he slips into an inner breast pocket of his jacket. ] --but was still in the next county over.
[ Derek had said it was testing the boundaries of the surrounding territories, occupied and unoccupied. Which means this was something of a challenge, if he remembers right. ]
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Her eyes narrow slightly as she follows his gesture. She'd seen the last body, too -- they'd gotten a look at it in the morgue. The beast that had made the kill had done a hell of a job. It had almost been unrecognizable.]
Probable cause of death?
[Life would have been so much easier if she'd just had a badge that identified her as a preternatural expert.]
The same as the previous bodies, I'm assuming.
['Wild dogs.' Right.]
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morning jog aw yes
It was a completely viable reason to hit snooze. So naturally he rolled back over, mashed his face into the junction between Derek's shoulder and collarbone, and shut his eyes again, trying to do this all as quietly as humanly possible in hopes that Derek wouldn't wake up.
Of course that was kind of futile, but you know. A guy could try. ]
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With a sigh as he suddenly has a face mashed into him, he resettles his arm and looks towards the window absently for five of the eight minutes. He's listening to everything around them, taking in the morning quiet before he yawns wide. Come seven minutes... ]
Get up, Stiles.
[ His voice is deep with sleep, though it's possibly also exhaustion. That night was only about three hours of sleep, and it's no surprise. ]
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[ Derek wasn't the only one who hadn't slept well the night before. Their pack meeting had gone late into the night, and between Derek's obvious radiating stress and his own...sort of radiating stress, it had been a rough night for everyone involved.
His natural response is to wiggle closer, rubbing his nose against the bare curve of his shoulder and squinting his eyes shut. Someone is really not a morning person, routine or not.]
C'n'tmakem. [Can't make me. Bleeeh.]
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I can, and you know it.
[ He presses a kiss to the top of his head, burying his nose into his dark hair and digging his fingers a little into sore muscles. Their mutual stress had been grating-- Stiles knew him like the back of his hand, and he could feel Stiles' with every sense at his disposal-- so he can understand his reluctance this morning.
But routine is routine. ]
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1/2
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This House is Freakin' Sweet
Sighing, Anita threw herself onto the bed and stretched out on her stomach, setting the file she'd been leafing through down in front of her. She began to shuffle through the photos again, looking for any detail she might have missed, but the siren call of the memory foam mattress and the down pillows was too great. Sliding the folder aside, she buried her face in the pillow and exhaled.]
This bed is amazing.
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He appears seemingly out of no where, plopping across the bed, not caring if he's actually partially laying on her.]
It's the best.
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I would go so far as to say this bed is as good as or possibly better than the sex we have on it.
[It was a real shame that they would have to leave it behind when they were finished.]
Motel beds are ruined for me.
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[He's not moving ever.]
Sex with me is always great and this bed is not only comfortable, but it only my jizz has been on it.
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Calling Home
It's not like she won't be getting the same amount of nowhere in half an hour, anyway.
She sighs heavily, rubbing at her temple as she puts the coffee on to brew. So far, the only thing they've gotten a break on during this case is the living situation. Living conditions are great. Lack of useful information? Not so much.
She glances towards the phone as the water in the coffee maker begins to bubble. She knows exactly who to call for input -- but there's more than that, too. They've been here for over a week and they've been so wrapped up in trying to pull the case together that she's yet to touch base.
Grabbing the phone off the wall, she tucks it between her ear and shoulder and leans back against the counter as she taps her foot, waiting for the other party to pick up.]
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He's been up for a solid seven hours when the phone rings, and he looks up from his reading, brows raising as he takes a drink from his mug. It's the house phone and not any of the other lines he has set up, like a damn veritable operator wheeling back and forth on the board, so he knows it's technically not an urgent call or an emergency. Cracking his back from his hyper focus, he wheels over to answer it with his book on his lap.
He checks the caller ID, as always, to see where it's coming in from. Seeing the number, he can't help but snort faintly.
Dean never calls him from the "home" phone, so as he picks up and tucks the phone against his shoulder to resume his research there's a smirk in his voice. ]
That the old maid callin'?
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After all, what would he ever do without her?]
Good morning to you, too, old man. I assume you've already put in a full day's work. Make sure you break for lunch sometime soon, yeah?