[ The thing about masquerade balls were that they involved a lot of dancing. And don't get Stiles wrong--he's actually a pretty big fan of dancing, back at home. The waltz had just started to get popular, and even though he could never seem to get to dance with Lydia, it'd always been fun, anyway. But here, they still do the group dances that are so common to the aristocracy, which can be, well. Boring as hell.
It's the third or fourth one of these that's occurred since Stiles was first taken on by Peter to spy on Derek Hale, and while he hasn't had much success in doing so, he has gotten to know the guy spectacularly well, to the point of where when he pushes up off the wall and tugs his mask back over his face to join the aristocrats in their dance (because no one can tell if you're a servant if you're covered, anyway), a grin plays out on his face as he realizes he's come out of the dance to be partnered with none other than Derek himself. He catches his hand as they make the first two steps forward, glances at him out of the corner of his eye and smiles, looking for all the world like the fox he's supposed to be costumed as. ] So we meet again.
[ Of course Derek'd recognize him right away, but if he waits for the moment right when they're going to swing back around another person before coming back to each other, well, maybe he's got a little flair for drama (and mischief, certainly) too. ]
[ The group dances should not be considered dancing. Actually, they should be banned.
Ever since he was younger, Derek's distaste for balls of any kind has been fairly apparent. His interest peaked when he was fifteen, sixteen, but then it was gone again in a flash. (Even then, his attention was largely focused on the musicians, not the dancers.) He knows how to dance, has learned multiple styles across the years, but if there's one thing he absolutely abhors, it's the group dances.
There is nothing more boring than this, all synchronized and monotonous movements. While he might not be known for the most expressive person, trading dance partners to the slow music is among his least favorite things to do at these balls. The other is his intense dislike of interacting with most of the people that go to these things.
Which is why he's torn between amusement and irritation at the sudden scent that hits his senses, the twice as familiar smile and the bright eyes that're hardly hidden by that damn mask. Brows raising beneath his own mask and attention forward in perfect imitation of those around them, Derek follows the motions of the dance smoothly, steps silent and measured. ]
[ He's not technically supposed to be joining in on the dances; it's the kind of thing meant strictly for the royalty, the upper class. Then again, so was the entire conference itself, and Stiles was starting to become an expert in rule breaking. Besides, it looked like Derek basically needed to be rescued--he'd never seen someone look so absolutely pained at the idea of personal contact and social graces for all of fifteen minutes.
When he comes back around and looks forward, his hand catches Derek's lightly, in the proper imitation of the dance. It was easy to pick up, actually, and as much as these werewolves seemed to enjoy it (there was probably something in here about pack and touching and getting friendly with each other--werewolves), Stiles was in Derek's camp. He raises his eyebrows behind his mask, opens his mouth and smacks his lips together, then looks off to the ceiling. ]
Considering I'm supposed to be your attendant? Yes, exactly. [ He drops his gaze and smiles at him for a minute, mouth quirked up in one of his lopsided grins. ] Wouldn't you rather me over-- [ And he jerks his head forward, to a rather prissy looking woman in front of them. ] -- the alpha from the north, over there? She's been watching you like a particularly tasty piece of meat for the past twenty minutes.
[ Personal contact and social graces are totally the norm for these functions, but Derek turns in on himself when it comes to anything outside of his pack. Especially when it comes to the people like this-- especially the alpha from the north, god save him-- that he'd rather just avoid or talk to over a conference table. Even if most of the time he wants to reach over and knock their skulls into said table, at least it puts distance between them.
Lifting his own eyes to the ceiling as if in imitation to Stiles-- makes the dance look more authentic, anyways-- he exhales heavily, something that spreads already broad shoulders and chest as he follows the motions of the dance like it's going to kill him. It probably will, some day. ]
I didn't ask for an attendant, so there's that. [ Cocking his head to look at him out of the corner of his eye, he visibly grimaces even though he knows said alpha probably heard Stiles. The problem with these functions is that there's rarely ever a secret, and where there is? They aren't typically benevolent ones. ] I'd rather not be here at all, but point.
Noo, but you got one anyway. That seems like the moral of your life. [ Stiles' mouth twitches into something a little more mischievous, like he knows the other alpha heard him, and slips away again, around another person, and back to Derek. Their hands touch--Stiles' ungloved, as was typical of someone a little more common, and he takes the slow, unending steps forward with a surprising amount of grace. It's mostly because this--this is easy compared to the waltz, the kind of stuff Lydia made him do a thousand times until he didn't look like a total tool when this whole sneak into the conference idea came about. Back then it was just looking for something to do in the city, something lighthearted, compared to the spying he was supposed to be doing now.
But it's hard to think about that when he's got Derek here with him like this, when they're spending time together and becoming friends. He likes the guy. He's funny, if grouchy and kind of bitchy on most days, he has weird habits and despite being a werewolf, there's something incredibly human about him. So he doesn't think about it, doesn't report a lot to Peter, and starts to draw his own conclusions instead. ] Unfortunately, I don't think there's any escaping it. Think of it this way! I'm here in servitude, you're here because it's supposedly fun.
[ He makes an exaggerated winking gesture under his mask. ] Who's the one that's really suffering here?
[ Choosing not to reply to that particular comment-- because it's a hard truth, whether Stiles realizes it or not-- Derek lets out a gruff noise of annoyance. It's half sincere, half fake, and he simply continues the unending movements despite the fact it makes his skin crawl. But there's a required time set by his mother and elder sister both, forcing him to stay there for a bit longer. At least Stiles alleviates the painful boredom that's causing his skin to crawl, and he keeps the northern alpha from stepping in in an attempt to court him.
Or take a bite out of him. He's not sure which.
Rolling his head a little to the side, he sighs heavily and willingly breaks his pristine posture that imitates those around him. Anyone who's listening to them and has half a brain will know that he's far from thrilled about this, anyways, so. ] We're both here against our will. But there is a way to escape it.
[ Out of the corner of his eye and beneath his mask, he looks at Stiles. Hard to miss as it is, there's a brief flash of brightness to his clear eyes-- not quite the electric blue that they'd turn, but something almost mischievous in return for Stiles' own expression. ]
[ Another go around, and the couples dance is nearly at the end of the line, now--they're almost free from the socialization. It'll be another four or so rounds before Stiles gets to dance with Derek again (and he'll honestly probably just slip out, unless Laura or Cora are in line) so he's pretty much considering blowing this popsicle stand and harassing Erica in the kitchens or something.
Derek catches his interest though, as he looks up at the masked prince for a minute, snorting out an ungraceful laugh when he sighs heavily and keeping his hold on his hand. ] Oh, is there. Is it the kind that's going to make your mom severely dock my already kinda limited pay, because seriously, I am broke as hell and these dances are apparently my cash cow.
[ He's honestly imagining the dude barreling through this giant line of people like a wrecking ball, but it's exciting all the same. That was a joke, though. ]
I've socialized long enough, I don't think she'll be too upset about it. [ Tone dry, Derek examines their surroundings rather than actually paying too much attention to the dance. To be fair, it's all linear. There's nothing he really needs to worry about, so long as he keeps going along with the movements. Not as if he hasn't done these a thousand times already, and now he could probably do them in his sleep.
God, what a nightmare that'd be.
A wolfish angle tilts his head, and he lets out an idle noise at the back of his throat. The fact he could easily barrel through the people surrounding them has occurred to him in the past, but he instead opts to suddenly properly take Stiles' hand, fingers curled close to his wrist, and pull him out of line in one easy, smooth movement that's a bit like a dance itself.
And then he heads for the nearest exit without a word. ]
Whoop--[ A noise comes out of his mouth before he can properly actually respond, kind of comically, as Stiles literally gets pulled right out of line, leaving a space where they were. He's quick enough on his feet that Stiles stumbles after him, barely having enough time to skitter across the room behind him, and pushes up his mask with one hand so it doesn't fall off his face.
He's still grinning like a loon, though, feeling that same sort of rush he felt the first day he even snuck in here--the giddy excitement that had come with being part of something he wasn't really allowed to be, redirected into the warm hand that's suddenly holding his and tugging him out of the room. He whispers loudly, just enough to be heard over the orchestra-- ] Dude, if your mo--the Alpha fires me, it is so your fault!
[ Navigating through the people milling around with relative ease, Derek makes sure to keep his eyes forward rather than scanning around the room for Talia or Laura. While Laura would just give him A Look, his mother? Would give him A Look. He'd much rather avoid the chastising when he's trying to get the hell out of there unscathed, even if it means he has company in the process.
If asked why he decided to lead Stiles out, he wouldn't have been able to answer.
Raising his eyebrows from behind his mask, he only glances back at Stiles when they've left the room and are in the clear, fingers loosening around his wrist as he starts to slow down from the quick steps that were made for a fast escape before they could be detected. He has a feeling more than one person saw them, and would gossip or report to his mother, but he can't really bring himself to care. ]
She's not going to fire you. She'll probably lecture me for the better part of an hour, but you'll be fine. [ That said, he turns away from him and makes for the stairway, intent on getting away from the party itself as he reaches his free hand up to nudge his mask up to the crown of his head. ]
[ By the time they've escaped, Stiles definitely has made eye contact with Laura (who wiggled her eyebrows at him, for some reason), but the first breath of fresh air from the main hall instead of the dance hall is kind of refreshing anyway, and the door slips shut behind them as they make their way away from the hubbub and down the stairs towards the back garden. Stiles follows Derek's example, pushing his mask up and rubbing the sweat from his cheeks, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone followed them. He makes a face at Derek's response, as if he's pondering it over, eyebrows coming up, then nods. ] That sounds like my kind of punishment.
[ By which he means, one that isn't his. With most of the party in the ballroom, the entire world seems to fade away by the time he's followed Derek outside, the noise of the orchestra and pomp and circumstance of old families of werewolves turning into the sound of water rushing nearby, leaves rustling in the trees. It's actually a pretty peaceful night, all things considered, and Stiles takes his first steps outside and inhales deeply, throwing his long arms up and letting them fall to his sides. ] Alright, fine, totally admitting it. You did it, you escaped the pitfalls of socialization almost seamlessly. Congratulations.
[ Derek hasn't let go completely of his hand, but Stiles wasn't really letting go, either. ]
Of course it does. [ A slight roll of his head indicates that he's rolling his eyes, but otherwise Derek isn't overly bothered by the statement. Talia is, at least, fairly understanding as both his mother and an alpha. The lecture will probably turn into a line of questioning and then an eventual conversation, because she knows that her son just... doesn't do these parties anymore. Hasn't, for a good three, four years now.
Glad to have gotten out of the party without anyone tailing them, he looks over at Stiles as he throws his arms up, partially because their hands are still joined. When he drops them again, he slips his fingers away from the warmth of soft skin that he can feel through the stupid gloves that were essentially thrown at his face (thanks, Laura) and demanded to be worn.
He absently picks at the wrist of one of them, looking down with amusement before he sheds the damn things and stuffs them into a coat pocket, looking up from under his brow at Stiles as he works. ] Thanks. It's easier to slip out at the start and end of dances, but I don't think my sanity would've lasted long enough for that.
[ Stiles is almost wishing he'd had a pair of gloves himself--the night's surprisingly nippy, almost cold enough for sleigh rides and heavy snows. It's getting near the third month of the congress, and while negotiations move on slow as ever, the seasons are changing. These rich supernatural people live in a world that moves at a hell of a different pace than his--it feels like people just party more than they actually negotiate around here.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looks up at his "charge", the two inches between them, and grins a little, mask still pushed up on his forehead. ] It sounds like you're starting to be an expert at this sneaking out thing. [ Looking up at the sky, he rocks back up on his heels. ] Could've used better execution, though. If you need some tips, I know a guy who snuck into a heavily guarded by werewolves event just to see that he could.
[ Not naming any names or anything. At least that much is a well known fact. ]
[ November came and went without any real progress in negotiations, and it was becoming very clear that a lot of the members of the upper class werewolf packs were starting to hate each other, and that was when Talia Hale had graciously offered to host something to keep the wolves from killing each other--a friendly romp in the snow that was to end with a sleigh ride throughout their territory. The sleighs were big, ornate things, and the servants were supposed to wait in them until their masters came back, so that's where Stiles is for now, dressed in a borrowed fur-lined jacket and with a pair of knit mittens on his hands. It's freezing cold, and he can just hear the sound of the wolves running around over the hills, which is pretty much the only thing that's kept Stiles from running over and joining them. That, and he's drawn enough attention to himself by speaking up at meetings that are supposed to be for wolves only--he doesn't know what kind of attention, but can't imagine any of it's good, considering the looks on their faces when he slammed his fist on the table and told them they were being idiots.
Oops.
So he's supposed to be laying low until they get back. And having A) scoped the area and B) spied a little on the wolves playing from through the trees (no one said he had to stay still) he's pretty much just waiting for familiar footsteps to come back over the hill. At this point, Stiles is looking forward to the sleigh ride--there's a warmer in the bottom of the sled just begging to be lit and blankets and furs to be wrapped in as soon as possible. ]
[ Talia Hale might've graciously offered to host something to keep the packs from killing each other, but she did not graciously allow her eldest son to skip out on the procedures. For a time, Derek indulged her and his siblings, socializing and "romping" with the other wolves. Reagan at least had been thrilled about it, tumbling around in the snow like he had when he first successfully shifted, and that made it worth the headache of dealing with other packs for a while. He'd had more than enough of the conference, an almost permanent migraine building in his temples every time the idea of actually having to sit down at the meetings and try to negotiate terms and territories and absurd suggestions that he, Laura, and their mother had been shooting down since they first started getting proposed.
Stiles speaking up during the meetings had been the only highlight of them, and he was almost tempted to just unleash the human on the other wolves. They deserved it for the headache they were.
Then again, he's rather attached to said human and would prefer that he not get his head bitten off for voicing what the entire Hale pack had been thinking. Which is part of why he finally retreats from the gathering over the hill, seeking shelter and sanity in the last place he'd ever have expected when they'd first met. There's snow in his hair and across his coat, a lighter weighted one than Stiles' but lined in fur identical to his own pelt, and he's adjusting his gloves as he walks like he isn't even perturbed by the weather. ]
[ It's pretty much undeniable that Stiles lights up a little when he watches Derek come over the hill. Coming back to life, he shivers and bounces in his spot until he shows up, then decides to fuck all pretense and get up in the sleigh first just because he can, standing on the edge and bouncing up and down even more on his toes, until he feels like he's maybe going to put some warmth back into his bones.
He notes Derek in his lightweight coat and his gloves that are probably like made of nothing and secretly envies him and his freakishly...supernatural body temperature. All Stiles has to keep warm is the coat that Talia had made for him and his own motions. He leans against the outside rim of the sleigh on his elbow, grinning and calling out-- ] Did you have a good rumpus with the Wild Things?
[ Shaking himself out a little, to try and get the snow off him and to maintain that warmth that he so often has, Derek looks up as he notices Stiles jittering around before he climbs in the sleigh and starts bouncing. A loud snort leaves him, startled out and amused, and he just... shakes his head at him, finally slipping his hands into his coat pockets as he comes down to where the sleigh is situated. ]
Reagan's going to sleep well tonight. [ If his baby brother doesn't pass out in the next hour, smack in the middle of a snow drift, from excitement. This conference has been just as much hell on him as the adults, if not more so. He stops at the sleigh, not at all far from where Stiles is leaning. All things considered, he's probably smack in his personal space. ] I, however, am done with the rumpus now.
[ His mouth turns up in a grin as Derek comes close, and leans over just a little bit more, like he's enjoying being taller than Derek for the moment. (He is.) It's easy to appraise him from here, the slight flush to his cheeks, the snow in his hair, the fact that he laughed (even if it was at Stiles--it was a marked improvement from when they first met) and something that twists in his heart is most certainly not related to the person he was technically supposed to be spying on but didn't really care to do so with anymore. He'd had his own plans going for that for two months now, and it was the powerful little habit he kept buried deep in the back of his mind, things he pushed away when he was enjoying moments like this. ]
We're gonna do a role reversal today. [ He sounds mischievous. ] As in, I'm gonna tell you to come and keep me warm with your freakish body heat before my nose falls off. How much longer until the rest of them come back, or can we just leave or what?
[ Looking up at Stiles calmly, not particularly bothered by the shift in height or Stiles' mischievousness, Derek watches him, eyes scanning thoughtfully. His hair is dusted in snowfall, his nose and ears and cheeks are all flushed, standing out in stark contrast to all that pale skin, and it's like his eyes are alight. That might be the spark of humor shining brighter, or it might just be his mind playing tricks on him. Because since having met Stiles, he's sort of gotten in over his head. It's ridiculous, and he's been pushing it aside to focus on more important things, but he can't exactly ignore it when it's just the two of them alone together.
Which seems to happen more and more as time goes on. ]
Really. [ Tone mock-flat, there's a twitch at the corner of his mouth that gives away the fact he's trying not to let his amusement show too much. ] Honestly, we're supposed to wait for everyone to come back, but neither of us are known to listen to any of the rules they give out for social events.
[ With that, he withdraws a hand and makes a shooing gesture at Stiles to move so he can get up there and commence with warming his stupid human up. ]
Oh thank god, yesssss. [ Even when Derek insinuates that he's being bad with his supposedly flat look, Stiles can't be assed to worry about it. Besides, Derek puts up with his rule breaking as much as Stiles does with his, and considering he's supposed to be keeping an eye on the Hale prince, he's probably going to get his ass in trouble for it. But Talia's instructions on his first day--keep my son happy--are what always stick with him in the back of his mind, and if he looks at the twitch at the corner of Derek's mouth, Stiles figures he's doing something right.
He breaks contact and scrambles into the blankets and furs piled into the sleigh seat, scooting to the far end and digging around with his cold fingers to pull out a small box of matches. From there, he takes his gloves off, makes "ah--ah--ah--ah" noises at how freakin cold it is, hissing from his teeth, then strikes a match and lights the warm coals. By the time he slams the door of it shut and scrambles back into the sleigh he's already frigid, and he lifts up his side of the furs, getting as bundled as he possibly can with his numb fingers.
It's not lost on Stiles, that he wasn't even supposed to come with on this sleigh ride. He's technically a servant; they're supposed to be back at the castle, preparing for the feast after the sleigh rides. Whatever it is, (and maybe he's a little spoiled) Stiles hazards a little grin over at his prince and considers how lucky he is. ]
[ Rolling his eyes when Stiles isn't looking, Derek lets him go about lighting the coals and complaining about how cold it is while he makes sure that the horses are properly rigged up to the sleigh. It takes a certain kind of animal to spend any amount of time around werewolves, so he rewards their patience with gentle pats to the withers, moving around the sleigh almost absently in his inspection before he's pulling himself up to hop into it. It's easier to let Stiles get himself settled in the furs and everything before he even tries it, so he just reaches to get the reins calmly while he bundles himself up.
Once it seems that Stiles will be able to fight off death by freezing, he calmly maneuvers his way into the furs, more for the human's benefit than his own. Eventually, the cold would present a problem, but right now he's still fairly comfortable with his own body heat and light jacket.
He shifts to sit close to him, ignoring the fact that there will be a lot of questions about why the Hale prince ran off with one of the servants and a sleigh, and gets comfortable as he gives a snap of the reins to get the horses moving. ]
Pretty sure I was supposed to drive. [ It's an idle, teasing comment, dry to point out exactly how many rules of etiquette they're breaking here, but Stiles really isn't complaining that much, as he lifts the quilts and furs around his shoulders and fidgets in close to Derek's side, putting his feet on the burner. It's pretty much a warm sweet spot, and a satisfied sigh escapes his mouth, loudly, as he rests his cheek against Derek's arm.
From here, it's easy to watch the world start to blur by. Everything's quiet in the snow, and the sounds of the wolves romping around in the forest fades away into the night as they trot down through the forest at a leisurely pace, underneath the twinkle of a crescent moon and the stars up ahead. The rich people life isn't so bad when you get to do things like this--Stiles can recall going for one sleigh ride in his life, and that was when he was small, with his mother. ]
Pretty sure you'd complain about your hands freezing off if you did. [ His return just as idle, half-teasing and half-thoughtful. Derek is used to breaking many of the societal rules that the werewolf community seems to intent to uphold, as if raising their noses high enough will keep them from smelling their own shit. He prefers this, anyways, letting Stiles slip away from that title of servant, enjoying the moment.
And it's good to let go of his responsibilities. Laura is slated to become the alpha, should anything happen to their mother, but that doesn't mean he isn't being primed as her second. The elder Hale siblings amount to Talia Hale's right and left hands in this conference, and they're just as damn busy as their alpha is. If all he has to do is keep Stiles warm and drive a sleigh in the crisp, winter night, he's more than content. It's given away by the fact that the tension in him seems to melt away underneath Stiles' cheek. ]
Aw, shucks, you do care. [ As sarcastic as it is, it makes his mouth turn up in a grin, and Stiles shifts over a little and curls the furs tighter around him, wiggling in so his thigh's pressed to Derek's, even lifting his head a little to make sure it's out of the way of the reins. It'd be easy as anything to worm under his arm, but he doesn't, maybe a little too nervous. Who knows.
Stiles turns his gaze up and looks at the stars overhead for a couple of seconds, then back down, watching the trees move by. It really is a beautiful night, and honestly, Stiles isn't complaining that they managed to get away. Being in a line of pomp and circumstance alphas didn't sound super fun to him, and this way, they could take their own winding path back to the palace, stop if they wanted to. There's a container of hot chocolate carefully tucked in by the burner, a recipe that Stiles painstakingly learned from Maimeo Hale herself, a woman who was so old her wrinkles had wrinkles and yet she could probably kick Stiles' ass with her pinky finger, but that's a surprise for when they stop. Maybe he did a little thinking ahead as a sweet gesture. Not as a necessity. ]
Somewhere deep in my dark, black soul. [ Tone flat and incredibly dry, Derek doesn't shift away as Stiles wiggles closer to him. His focus is mostly ahead and on the horses at first, keeping a close watch on where they're going and the speed they're moving at. But after a bit, he seems satisfied with their trot and turns his head just a touch to look at Stiles out of the corner of his eye.
There are starts in the winter sky, casting soft like with the moon, but for as much as he could admire them he's more interested in the stars that dot across Stiles' skin.
Expression softening, he looks away from him and settles back in his seat, curling the reins in one hand, hoping his trust in their horses isn't misplaced. It lets him bring the arm closest to Stiles up, setting it along the back of the sleigh without missing a beat. Oblivious as he is to Stiles' thoughts, and to his previous planning, it's just easy to settle like that with him. It says a lot of their progression since they first met. ]
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timelines are for quitters
It's the third or fourth one of these that's occurred since Stiles was first taken on by Peter to spy on Derek Hale, and while he hasn't had much success in doing so, he has gotten to know the guy spectacularly well, to the point of where when he pushes up off the wall and tugs his mask back over his face to join the aristocrats in their dance (because no one can tell if you're a servant if you're covered, anyway), a grin plays out on his face as he realizes he's come out of the dance to be partnered with none other than Derek himself. He catches his hand as they make the first two steps forward, glances at him out of the corner of his eye and smiles, looking for all the world like the fox he's supposed to be costumed as. ] So we meet again.
[ Of course Derek'd recognize him right away, but if he waits for the moment right when they're going to swing back around another person before coming back to each other, well, maybe he's got a little flair for drama (and mischief, certainly) too. ]
psh timelines.
Ever since he was younger, Derek's distaste for balls of any kind has been fairly apparent. His interest peaked when he was fifteen, sixteen, but then it was gone again in a flash. (Even then, his attention was largely focused on the musicians, not the dancers.) He knows how to dance, has learned multiple styles across the years, but if there's one thing he absolutely abhors, it's the group dances.
There is nothing more boring than this, all synchronized and monotonous movements. While he might not be known for the most expressive person, trading dance partners to the slow music is among his least favorite things to do at these balls. The other is his intense dislike of interacting with most of the people that go to these things.
Which is why he's torn between amusement and irritation at the sudden scent that hits his senses, the twice as familiar smile and the bright eyes that're hardly hidden by that damn mask. Brows raising beneath his own mask and attention forward in perfect imitation of those around them, Derek follows the motions of the dance smoothly, steps silent and measured. ]
There's no getting rid of you, is there?
they're fer yellabellies
When he comes back around and looks forward, his hand catches Derek's lightly, in the proper imitation of the dance. It was easy to pick up, actually, and as much as these werewolves seemed to enjoy it (there was probably something in here about pack and touching and getting friendly with each other--werewolves), Stiles was in Derek's camp. He raises his eyebrows behind his mask, opens his mouth and smacks his lips together, then looks off to the ceiling. ]
Considering I'm supposed to be your attendant? Yes, exactly. [ He drops his gaze and smiles at him for a minute, mouth quirked up in one of his lopsided grins. ] Wouldn't you rather me over-- [ And he jerks his head forward, to a rather prissy looking woman in front of them. ] -- the alpha from the north, over there? She's been watching you like a particularly tasty piece of meat for the past twenty minutes.
Yer a yellabelly.
Lifting his own eyes to the ceiling as if in imitation to Stiles-- makes the dance look more authentic, anyways-- he exhales heavily, something that spreads already broad shoulders and chest as he follows the motions of the dance like it's going to kill him. It probably will, some day. ]
I didn't ask for an attendant, so there's that. [ Cocking his head to look at him out of the corner of his eye, he visibly grimaces even though he knows said alpha probably heard Stiles. The problem with these functions is that there's rarely ever a secret, and where there is? They aren't typically benevolent ones. ] I'd rather not be here at all, but point.
Gasp.
But it's hard to think about that when he's got Derek here with him like this, when they're spending time together and becoming friends. He likes the guy. He's funny, if grouchy and kind of bitchy on most days, he has weird habits and despite being a werewolf, there's something incredibly human about him. So he doesn't think about it, doesn't report a lot to Peter, and starts to draw his own conclusions instead. ] Unfortunately, I don't think there's any escaping it. Think of it this way! I'm here in servitude, you're here because it's supposedly fun.
[ He makes an exaggerated winking gesture under his mask. ] Who's the one that's really suffering here?
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Or take a bite out of him. He's not sure which.
Rolling his head a little to the side, he sighs heavily and willingly breaks his pristine posture that imitates those around him. Anyone who's listening to them and has half a brain will know that he's far from thrilled about this, anyways, so. ] We're both here against our will. But there is a way to escape it.
[ Out of the corner of his eye and beneath his mask, he looks at Stiles. Hard to miss as it is, there's a brief flash of brightness to his clear eyes-- not quite the electric blue that they'd turn, but something almost mischievous in return for Stiles' own expression. ]
no subject
Derek catches his interest though, as he looks up at the masked prince for a minute, snorting out an ungraceful laugh when he sighs heavily and keeping his hold on his hand. ] Oh, is there. Is it the kind that's going to make your mom severely dock my already kinda limited pay, because seriously, I am broke as hell and these dances are apparently my cash cow.
[ He's honestly imagining the dude barreling through this giant line of people like a wrecking ball, but it's exciting all the same. That was a joke, though. ]
no subject
God, what a nightmare that'd be.
A wolfish angle tilts his head, and he lets out an idle noise at the back of his throat. The fact he could easily barrel through the people surrounding them has occurred to him in the past, but he instead opts to suddenly properly take Stiles' hand, fingers curled close to his wrist, and pull him out of line in one easy, smooth movement that's a bit like a dance itself.
And then he heads for the nearest exit without a word. ]
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He's still grinning like a loon, though, feeling that same sort of rush he felt the first day he even snuck in here--the giddy excitement that had come with being part of something he wasn't really allowed to be, redirected into the warm hand that's suddenly holding his and tugging him out of the room. He whispers loudly, just enough to be heard over the orchestra-- ] Dude, if your mo--the Alpha fires me, it is so your fault!
[ But it's teasing, though. ]
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If asked why he decided to lead Stiles out, he wouldn't have been able to answer.
Raising his eyebrows from behind his mask, he only glances back at Stiles when they've left the room and are in the clear, fingers loosening around his wrist as he starts to slow down from the quick steps that were made for a fast escape before they could be detected. He has a feeling more than one person saw them, and would gossip or report to his mother, but he can't really bring himself to care. ]
She's not going to fire you. She'll probably lecture me for the better part of an hour, but you'll be fine. [ That said, he turns away from him and makes for the stairway, intent on getting away from the party itself as he reaches his free hand up to nudge his mask up to the crown of his head. ]
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[ By which he means, one that isn't his. With most of the party in the ballroom, the entire world seems to fade away by the time he's followed Derek outside, the noise of the orchestra and pomp and circumstance of old families of werewolves turning into the sound of water rushing nearby, leaves rustling in the trees. It's actually a pretty peaceful night, all things considered, and Stiles takes his first steps outside and inhales deeply, throwing his long arms up and letting them fall to his sides. ] Alright, fine, totally admitting it. You did it, you escaped the pitfalls of socialization almost seamlessly. Congratulations.
[ Derek hasn't let go completely of his hand, but Stiles wasn't really letting go, either. ]
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Glad to have gotten out of the party without anyone tailing them, he looks over at Stiles as he throws his arms up, partially because their hands are still joined. When he drops them again, he slips his fingers away from the warmth of soft skin that he can feel through the stupid gloves that were essentially thrown at his face (thanks, Laura) and demanded to be worn.
He absently picks at the wrist of one of them, looking down with amusement before he sheds the damn things and stuffs them into a coat pocket, looking up from under his brow at Stiles as he works. ] Thanks. It's easier to slip out at the start and end of dances, but I don't think my sanity would've lasted long enough for that.
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Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looks up at his "charge", the two inches between them, and grins a little, mask still pushed up on his forehead. ] It sounds like you're starting to be an expert at this sneaking out thing. [ Looking up at the sky, he rocks back up on his heels. ] Could've used better execution, though. If you need some tips, I know a guy who snuck into a heavily guarded by werewolves event just to see that he could.
[ Not naming any names or anything. At least that much is a well known fact. ]
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let's hear those sleigh bells jingling
Oops.
So he's supposed to be laying low until they get back. And having A) scoped the area and B) spied a little on the wolves playing from through the trees (no one said he had to stay still) he's pretty much just waiting for familiar footsteps to come back over the hill. At this point, Stiles is looking forward to the sleigh ride--there's a warmer in the bottom of the sled just begging to be lit and blankets and furs to be wrapped in as soon as possible. ]
RING DING DINGALING DING.
Stiles speaking up during the meetings had been the only highlight of them, and he was almost tempted to just unleash the human on the other wolves. They deserved it for the headache they were.
Then again, he's rather attached to said human and would prefer that he not get his head bitten off for voicing what the entire Hale pack had been thinking. Which is part of why he finally retreats from the gathering over the hill, seeking shelter and sanity in the last place he'd ever have expected when they'd first met. There's snow in his hair and across his coat, a lighter weighted one than Stiles' but lined in fur identical to his own pelt, and he's adjusting his gloves as he walks like he isn't even perturbed by the weather. ]
i heard that in the what does the fox say voice
He notes Derek in his lightweight coat and his gloves that are probably like made of nothing and secretly envies him and his freakishly...supernatural body temperature. All Stiles has to keep warm is the coat that Talia had made for him and his own motions. He leans against the outside rim of the sleigh on his elbow, grinning and calling out-- ] Did you have a good rumpus with the Wild Things?
Good.
Reagan's going to sleep well tonight. [ If his baby brother doesn't pass out in the next hour, smack in the middle of a snow drift, from excitement. This conference has been just as much hell on him as the adults, if not more so. He stops at the sleigh, not at all far from where Stiles is leaning. All things considered, he's probably smack in his personal space. ] I, however, am done with the rumpus now.
hati hati hati ho
We're gonna do a role reversal today. [ He sounds mischievous. ] As in, I'm gonna tell you to come and keep me warm with your freakish body heat before my nose falls off. How much longer until the rest of them come back, or can we just leave or what?
wa wa way do
Which seems to happen more and more as time goes on. ]
Really. [ Tone mock-flat, there's a twitch at the corner of his mouth that gives away the fact he's trying not to let his amusement show too much. ] Honestly, we're supposed to wait for everyone to come back, but neither of us are known to listen to any of the rules they give out for social events.
[ With that, he withdraws a hand and makes a shooing gesture at Stiles to move so he can get up there and commence with warming his stupid human up. ]
WHAT DOES THE FOX SAY
He breaks contact and scrambles into the blankets and furs piled into the sleigh seat, scooting to the far end and digging around with his cold fingers to pull out a small box of matches. From there, he takes his gloves off, makes "ah--ah--ah--ah" noises at how freakin cold it is, hissing from his teeth, then strikes a match and lights the warm coals. By the time he slams the door of it shut and scrambles back into the sleigh he's already frigid, and he lifts up his side of the furs, getting as bundled as he possibly can with his numb fingers.
It's not lost on Stiles, that he wasn't even supposed to come with on this sleigh ride. He's technically a servant; they're supposed to be back at the castle, preparing for the feast after the sleigh rides. Whatever it is, (and maybe he's a little spoiled) Stiles hazards a little grin over at his prince and considers how lucky he is. ]
"get the fuck in this sled I'm COLD"
Once it seems that Stiles will be able to fight off death by freezing, he calmly maneuvers his way into the furs, more for the human's benefit than his own. Eventually, the cold would present a problem, but right now he's still fairly comfortable with his own body heat and light jacket.
He shifts to sit close to him, ignoring the fact that there will be a lot of questions about why the Hale prince ran off with one of the servants and a sleigh, and gets comfortable as he gives a snap of the reins to get the horses moving. ]
...accurate
From here, it's easy to watch the world start to blur by. Everything's quiet in the snow, and the sounds of the wolves romping around in the forest fades away into the night as they trot down through the forest at a leisurely pace, underneath the twinkle of a crescent moon and the stars up ahead. The rich people life isn't so bad when you get to do things like this--Stiles can recall going for one sleigh ride in his life, and that was when he was small, with his mother. ]
I thought as much.
And it's good to let go of his responsibilities. Laura is slated to become the alpha, should anything happen to their mother, but that doesn't mean he isn't being primed as her second. The elder Hale siblings amount to Talia Hale's right and left hands in this conference, and they're just as damn busy as their alpha is. If all he has to do is keep Stiles warm and drive a sleigh in the crisp, winter night, he's more than content. It's given away by the fact that the tension in him seems to melt away underneath Stiles' cheek. ]
not everyone's a werewolf k
Stiles turns his gaze up and looks at the stars overhead for a couple of seconds, then back down, watching the trees move by. It really is a beautiful night, and honestly, Stiles isn't complaining that they managed to get away. Being in a line of pomp and circumstance alphas didn't sound super fun to him, and this way, they could take their own winding path back to the palace, stop if they wanted to. There's a container of hot chocolate carefully tucked in by the burner, a recipe that Stiles painstakingly learned from Maimeo Hale herself, a woman who was so old her wrinkles had wrinkles and yet she could probably kick Stiles' ass with her pinky finger, but that's a surprise for when they stop. Maybe he did a little thinking ahead as a sweet gesture. Not as a necessity. ]
s'k you have a werewolf heater.
There are starts in the winter sky, casting soft like with the moon, but for as much as he could admire them he's more interested in the stars that dot across Stiles' skin.
Expression softening, he looks away from him and settles back in his seat, curling the reins in one hand, hoping his trust in their horses isn't misplaced. It lets him bring the arm closest to Stiles up, setting it along the back of the sleigh without missing a beat. Oblivious as he is to Stiles' thoughts, and to his previous planning, it's just easy to settle like that with him. It says a lot of their progression since they first met. ]
thank goodness for that uwu
cozy right on up.
if you insist
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